


Return to Sanditon - Gunpowder & Rose - Crowe's Story

by Angie_loves_Sanditon



Series: Return To Sanditon - Novella Collection [2]
Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen, Welcome to Sanditon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21521068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angie_loves_Sanditon/pseuds/Angie_loves_Sanditon
Summary: Written, very much in my own style; this is the second story in my Return To Sanditon collection.It follows on from the Return to Sanditon -A Novella and focuses on the story of Mr Crowe as he ascends to his title (Earl of Frogmore). The story takes us from Berkshire to London and, of course, Sanditon.Forced by his late uncle's will to choose a bride from one of his three wards, this story concentrates on Crowe and Rose's relationship. Many familiar faces reappear in this novella but I also introduce some new characters.As you would expect from Crowe, things aren't all plain sailing and his road to wedded bliss is not always smooth.This novella contains a HEA and an epilogue.
Relationships: Mr Crowe/Rose Downing
Series: Return To Sanditon - Novella Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551139
Comments: 26
Kudos: 54





	Return to Sanditon - Gunpowder & Rose - Crowe's Story

**A RETURN TO SANDITON NOVELLA (2)**

**GUNPOWDER & ROSE**

**CROWE'S STORY**

**by**

**Angie Stenning**

**1**

The Albany was a reputable residence in the heart of St James. Its clientele consisted of bachelors; gentlemen all. This august residence was home to one such gentleman from a respectable lineage and adequate fortune. Or rather, it had been. Crowe looked around his empty suite of rooms and sighed. He would miss the place and the freedoms it afforded him. From this moment on, life was to become immeasurably more tiresome. Responsibilities, thought Crowe, scowling. Those blasted, pestilential tasks that fell to those of rank and privilege.

It was exactly three months, two days and approximately six hours since the course of his life had changed irredeemably. For on that crisp February morn, he had been required to attend the reading of his late uncle’s last Will and Testament. His late uncle, of whom he had known not one jot. His father’s older brother had forsaken any and all contact with his younger sibling; had cut him off and failed to acknowledge the familial connection, even amongst society. No private family disagreement for that old bastard, no indeed. The cut had been public and decisive and took the form of a duel. Brother fighting brother, and ultimately, brother mortally wounding brother, over nothing so much as the outcome of a wager. The Crowe men were nothing if not disreputable.

The familial estrangement had existed for almost the entirety of Crowe’s life. He had been a child of ten years old when a coach had delivered a bloody and dying Maximus Crowe back to the family for his last remaining hours. Much to the surprise of his ten-year-old self, his mother had not wailed and sobbed, no indeed, she had wished her dying husband to perdition. From that day forth, Maximus Crowe and his erstwhile sibling were spoken of no more. As time had moved swiftly on the connection had long since been forgotten.

Therefore, when the summons had arrived for the Will reading of some little-known relation, Crowe had been curious enough to attend. Little had he known that he would walk away from that encounter with an earldom, an estate to manage and a bevvy of female dependants.

Crowe, in his state of disbelief, had found solace in the form of his gentleman’s club and the fine liquor therein. He had imbibed sufficiently to fell most men, yet still could not fathom what had occurred. Defeated in his endeavour to become foxed, Crowe had then prevailed upon the hospitality of one of his most loyal and oldest friends, Lord Henry Babington.

He arrived at Beecham House just after the bells had chimed three of the afternoon. Lord Babington’s butler, Morris, in the manner of butlers the world over, had announced his arrival with all due gravitas; only the slightest thinning of his lips belied his disapproval.

“Crowe, my good fellow, come along in,” Babington welcomed with a handshake and a smile. “Unusual to see you about during daylight hours. Are you feeling quite well?”

Crowe entered the library with purpose and made directly for the sideboard, “Brandy, Babington. Where the deuce is the brandy?“ he asked in desperation, forgoing the usual greeting.

Babington strode to the large mahogany desk and opened a cupboard therein, removing a bottle and two glasses.

“Little ones running around, Crowe,” Babington explained apologetically.

Married for just over five years, Babington and his wife Esther were the proud parents of a four-year-old daughter Sophia, three-year-old son Marcus and their newest addition, three-month-old baby George.

As he poured his friend a healthy measure, he asked frowning, “This is unusual behaviour even for you, Crowe. Tell me, what has you in a brown study?”

Crowe gulped the brandy back in one long swallow before meeting the eyes of his old friend. “I have today been to visit a solicitor at the Inns of Court. I was summoned to a reading of the will of the recently departed 6th Earl Frogmore,” he began unsteadily.

Babington regarded him in surprise and a measure of concern, “Frogmore? I didn’t know he’d passed. Dreadful old curmudgeon, staunch Tory. He left no issue, I believe?”

Crowe nodded absently, “Correct. He had no children. Never married. However, they managed to track down a nephew,” Crowe stared pointedly at Babington, holding his gaze until he saw understanding dawn.

“Wait, what?” Babington stammered, “Are you trying to tell me that Frogmore was your uncle?” He gaped in shock. “That would make you …”

“His heir,” Crowe answered for him. “So, they tell me.”

Babington took a moment before a grin graced his features, “Good god man! Congratulations!” He paused, “Or commiserations? You don’t look happy about this turn of events? I assume there’s more?”

“How astute you are Babbers. There is indeed more,” Crowe sat down heavily in one of the leather armchairs. “The will contained a codicil. A stipulation was added before the old Earls demise. A requirement,” he stammered. Crowe felt like he was about to cast up his accounts. He cleared his throat and tried again, “The will requires that in order to inherit the majority of the estate's wealth, which is unentailed, I must consent to marry within a 12 month.”

Babington, open-mouthed, gaped at Crowe in apparent disbelief. He walked back to the desk and grabbed the bottle he had left there and poured himself a brandy; topping up his companion’s.

“So, let me get this straight. You have inherited an earldom that you knew nothing of, but in order to benefit from the wealth you must find some chit to marry you within a year?” Babington asked.

“Precisely, except, not just any chit. My uncle had three wards. Second cousins or such on my grandmothers’ side. He has stipulated that I choose one of the three as my countess.” Crowe scowled and downed his drink.

Babington considered him for a moment and then dissolved into laughter, “He’s tied you up pretty it seems, the old devil.” After a moment, he added, “What do you intend to do? Is there no recourse?”

“Do? What can I do? Without the unentailed fortune, the earldom will sink. I’m no pauper, but I certainly cannot sustain the costs of a large estate and, from what I’ve been told, Wentworth is a rotting great mausoleum of a place. I cannot eschew the title, and so I have little option,” He looked up and grimaced. “Therefore, I shall await the letters patent and then go and rusticate. After all, how hard can it be to select a bride? One of them must be biddable, surely?”

Regardless, he thought, there wasn’t enough brandy in the kingdom to make that prospect palatable.

**2**

_Three months, three days later_

The carriage rumbled down the tree-lined avenue approaching the ancestral pile that had belonged to the Earls of Frogmore for more than two hundred years. Crowe stared fixedly out of the window at the pastoral scenes. Horses grazed in carefully maintained paddocks, lawns trimmed neatly and newly flourishing foliage gifting observers with an impression of hope and springtime. Crowe saw none of it.

He slumped back against the squabs and closed his eyes. He’d seen acres of farmland interspersed with tenant cottages. He’d seen flocks of livestock that required husbandry, and he’d seen a monstrosity of a house with nothing short of 100 windows at least. He took a large gulp of the brandy he had been steadily consuming from his trusted flask; battered and worn with age. That was how he felt this day, he decided, battered and worn. Responsibilities he knew would, from this moment on, sound the death knell on his frivolous, carefree existence. God help him. He was not born for this; he’d spent his three and thirty years proving to the world that he was made in his miserable fathers’ image. His vocation was debauchery and his occupation dissolution.

As the large stately property came into sight once more, Crowe straightened. Wentworth was built in the highly classical style of the 17th century Stuart period, it boasted straight lines and perfect symmetry. It was complemented by a grand portico entrance set before sweeping steps that seemed to flow like twin cascades towards the gravelled driveway.

From a window on the second floor, Miss Rosemary Downing observed the approaching carriage before turning to her companions, “He’s here!”

Pandemonium ensued as appearances were tidied and staff alerted so that they could welcome their new master.

“Rose?” Asked Maria, Rose’s youngest sister, “Can you see him?”

Rose squinted but could not make out the occupant of the smart travelling coach. She noted the carriage horses were well matched, and there seemed trunks enough strapped to the roof for a lengthy stay. Lord help us, Rose thought.

To Maria, she replied, “I can see very little. Now, remember, until we know the new Earl’s character, we must be cautious.” She turned to Louisa, her middle sister, “And for goodness sake, keep the spirits under lock and key!”

The carriage came to a halt in front of the imposing entrance just as a stream of neatly attired staff filed from the main entrance. Crowe blinked at the sight of at least forty servants aligned in rank and file as was the tradition in fine old establishments. Well, he thought, this is a new experience.

A footman set down the steps and Crowe exited the carriage. He stumbled slightly before correcting himself. Hell’s teeth, he thought, I should not have tippled quite so much en route. His valet, Pratt, who had ridden on top with the coachman, introduced himself to a portly fellow, clearly the butler, before directing the footman to remove trunks.

Crowe regarded the situation before him. His new staff waiting patiently for their first introduction to the 7th Earl of Frogmore. Just as he moved forward, a trio of young ladies exited the house and made their way down the steps to greet him. Crowe regarded them warily as they approached. Genteel ladies, obviously, a million miles from the women he usually encountered. The tallest had warm blonde hair scraped back into a severe bun and wore a demure gown of dullest, ditch water grey giving her the appearance of a governess. Her expression was bland and unrevealing, but he noted a barely perceptible look shared between the sisters, and they were definitely sisters, the resemblance was undeniable. The second lady appeared to be of a quieter disposition. She seemed reluctant to raise her gaze to meet his, in complete contrast to the third sister, who was staring unashamedly.

The first sister spoke, “Welcome to Wentworth, My Lord. I am Miss Rosemary Downing, and these are my younger sisters Louisa and Maria. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.” They curtsied.

“Charmed,” He replied with a courtly bow. “I am Crowe. S’pose I’m also Frogmore now as well.” He grinned and then hiccupped. The ladies shared a look he wasn’t able to decipher but assumed it was not complimentary.

The elder miss frowned but held her tongue. He regarded her and nodded his head towards the waiting household, “Perhaps you could do the honours, Miss D …” Blast it, he thought, what the deuce was her name again?

Rose frowned at him once more, then turned on her heel and made her way to the bottom of the steps where the housekeeper and butler stood in readiness. Well, he thought, this chit seemed entirely without humour, he hoped the other two would be more congenial.

After being introduced to his senior staff, Crowe smiled and nodded his way down the long line of his new employees. After an exhausting twenty minutes, and in need of a restorative, Crowe made his way into his new abode. Miss Downing and her sisters followed behind in silence. It was fairly obvious, even in his slightly inebriated state, that his new wards were less than enthused by their new guardian.

Rose regarded the new Earl Frogmore with distaste. He was foxed. Well, she thought, blood will tell. His predecessor had been predisposed to overindulgence, and now it seemed too did the nephew. The old Earl’s solicitor had spoken vaguely about the gentleman if indeed one could call him such; as ‘ _a gentleman of fashionable pursuits_ ’ being the only description given of the person who would have complete control over their lives. Her request to be present at the reading of the will had been declined as only direct beneficiaries were permitted to attend. Discomforting to think that she and her sisters were regarded as nothing more than chattel or property to inherit.

**3**

The following morning, the sisters were sat in the breakfast parlour. Rose was still distracted by the unnerving arrival of the new Earl. With luck, the slow pace and lack of entertainment would curtail any idea he had of making this his permanent residence. Surely his interests would lie in the hustle, bustle and merrymaking of the ton. The season must have started by now.

“Rose!” Maria called her name in exasperation, “I’ve just been speaking to you, and it’s like you’re in a different room!” Satisfied that her sister was now paying attention, she continued, “I was asking you whether you have any opinions to share on our new guardian. He seems to be a jolly chap, don’t you think?” She regarded Rose with bright blue eyes and open expression.

Rose scowled in response, “Jolly? The blasted man is a drunk just like his uncle before him.”

Louisa, the sweetest natured of the three sisters, replied softly, “He may improve Rose, on longer acquaintance. Perhaps he had good reason to imbibe. He may dislike travel or may be concerned with taking up his responsibilities.” She straightened in her seat and added, “We should be more hospitable.”

Rose snorted, “If you two think for one minute, I aim to make his life comfortable while he is here, you are much mistaken.” She regarded her sisters, sternly, “He is of no use if he is permanently foxed, and I can see no benefit from the connection. Best we send him on his way as soon as possible. I, for one, cannot wait for him to be gone.”

Her sister’s expression changed from amused curiosity to alarm during her heated speech, and it took but a moment for her to realise they were staring at something behind her. It did not require great intellect to comprehend just precisely what had captured their attention. She grimaced before straightening her shoulders and turning.

“Good morning, ladies,” Crowe bowed, a wry expression gracing his face. “Please, Miss Downing, don’t let me interrupt you. It’s not every day one finds themselves so warmly welcomed into their new home.”

As colour rose in her cheeks, the girl held his gaze and greeted him cordially. She was obviously no simpering miss; challenge shone clear and bright in her eyes. Pretty eyes, he noted, now he could regard them without an alcoholic glaze. Blue, like the colour of the sky on a sunny day, he mused before mentally shaking himself. What rot! The girl had just wished him gone. Admiring her eyes and her spirit would be a ridiculous folly at this stage of their acquaintance.

As he broke the connection, he headed to the sideboard to fill his plate. It had been an age since he’d been sober enough to enjoy the morning meal. Despite a thorough search, the house seemed to hold no spirits. The best Pratt had been able to find was a bottle of claret tucked away in the butler’s pantry. It was tolerable, and beggars couldn’t be choosers; however, he’d only had a glass or two with his evening meal, before succumbing to sleep. The consequence of such untypical behaviour had him up early enough to head out for a morning ride. He was now famished.

As he sat at the empty setting at the head of the table, Crowe regarded his companions. All of whom looked faintly alarmed. They think I’m the very devil, he thought, amused.

“So, my Lord,” began one of the sisters, he could not recall which one. “Did you sleep well?” She asked pleasantly. This one shared the blue eyes of her older sister, but her hair was a shade lighter. Was she Maria or Louisa? Not a clue, he thought.

“I did indeed, thank you. My chamber is most comfortable,” He replied genially between mouthfuls of bacon and eggs.

“It is a lovely chamber. The prospect is delightful with views over the parkland at the rear. Your predecessor spent almost every moment of his decline there until he passed away … in that very bed,” The elder Miss Downing spoke sweetly, but her sparkling eyes betrayed her intentions.

Crowe narrowed his eyes at her, proud of himself for being able to suppress the shiver that had run down his spine. “Ah, err. Excellent. How fortuitous that the sad event occurred here in a place he so enjoyed,” he replied, already planning to have the mattress changed and then burnt.

After some general discourse and talk of the weather, Crowe excused himself and stood, explaining his wish to change from his riding clothes. Miss Downing also stood and advised her sisters that she would be in the estate office should they need her. Curious, he followed her from the room, stopping in the hallway to enquire, “Estate Office? Do you have business with my Estate Manager, Miss Downing?”

Rose frowned at him before realising that he was completely unaware of the role she had been fulfilling since before the passing of the old Earl. He watched her closely and awaited a response.

“Well …” she began, “The position of Estate Manager has been vacant for over a year My Lord. That is to say, the estate is managed, but you do not employ anyone to fulfil the role.”

“Miss Downing, are you being deliberately obtuse?” Crowe asked in confusion, “If I do not employ an Estate Manager how the devil can the estate still be managed?”

Rose sighed, “The old Earl became unwell a little over a year ago. At first, he was able to continue to perform some tasks, but as time moved on, both his mobility and his faculties became impaired.” The Earl continued to regard her as if she had spoken in gibberish. “Having been unwilling to delegate the running of the estate, he performed the role himself but, eventually, duties became too difficult and the estate suffered from lack of oversight. The trades were not paid, and repairs were neglected.”

“You speak in the past tense, Miss Downing. I assume there was someone sufficiently trained in such matters available to assist. I’ve seen the reports, and they show no signs of neglect.” Crowe queried, “Miss Downing. Who has been managing the estate?”

“I have, My Lord,” Rose replied cautiously.

“I see,” he replied, after a slight pause he added, “Will you oblige me by waiting while I refresh myself then I shall accompany you to the estate office where you will explain to me what improvements you have initiated.” He dipped his head and walked away.

Rose stood immobilised for a moment. She’d known that she would have to explain these matters eventually but had expected to be summarily dismissed, not invited along to discuss her progress. How odd. Where was the man that had arrived yesterday drunk and disinterested?

Crowe ascended the grand staircase that ran through the centre of the house. His mind was still mulling over his conversation with the prickly Miss Downing. He hadn’t lied; he had indeed seen the last two quarterly account statements and been relieved to know that they were turning a decent profit. How unusual for a gently bred female to take on the duty of overseeing the estate. Crowe admitted to himself that this lady was not quite what he had expected. Crowe was not fooling himself that she regarded him with any benevolence, no indeed. He suspected that his behaviour upon his arrival had gone some way towards developing her antipathy, yet, he sensed there was more to her. As his thoughts continued to swirl, he changed and readied himself. This sobriety lark was tiresome indeed.

**4**

A quarter-hour later, a footman directed him to the library, where he found Miss Downing ensconced within. She stood up as he entered and smoothed down her bluish-grey skirts. The lady needs to wear some brighter colours, he thought idly. “If you will follow me, My Lord.” She spoke officiously. Crowe nodded his acquiescence and allowed her to lead the way.

They spent some time reviewing the account books and discussing the issues affecting the estate. After a while, Crowe’s head pounded with the onslaught of information, and he called a halt in favour of refreshment. A tea tray arrived, and they moved to the more comfortable arrangement of chairs before continuing their discourse.

“Well, Miss Downing, you have been busy. The estate seems to have been in competent hands. This is all relatively new to me, but even my untrained eye can see you have a good head for business,” Crowe took a sip of his tea and regarded his companion. “Now, may I ask you a question unrelated to estates, livestock or crop yields?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Rose replied cautiously. Unsure where this conversation would lead.

“I am wondering, Miss Downing, why you are not married?” At her sharp intake of breath, Crowe surmised that that was not what she expected him to ask. He continued, “You have decent enough connections and are not without beauty, yet neither are you in the first blush of youth.” He noted her eyes widening in surprise and ploughed on, “Come now, Miss Downing, if I am to be your guardian when you are far past the age of consent, I must understand why that is so?”

Rose was wrong-footed and more than a little surprised that he would indelicately refer to her as essentially long in the tooth. It took her a moment to comprehend fully what he was asking of her. She was five and twenty, decidedly not a girl fresh from the schoolroom. He was right, she was of age and did not, in the eyes of the law, require a guardian. However, she had been much younger when she had joined the old earl’s household. Her parents had died in a carriage accident, and she and her two younger sisters were left without protection or funds. They had come to live here at Wentworth and here they had stayed.

“My sisters and I were never given the opportunity to have a season. Our parents passed away several years ago. As for the marriage prospects of someone of my ‘advanced’ years, one must first socialise with a gentleman before one can hope to marry one, My Lord.” Rose replied dismissively, “and society in these parts has been sorely lacking.”

“Are you or your sisters of a mind to marry?” Crowe persisted, “I could perhaps find someone to sponsor you for a season if that is your desire?”

Rose, surprised by the offer, considered the Earl for a moment before answering, “Louisa and Maria are young enough to still desire marriage. It is an offer we shall consider. Thank you, My Lord.”

“Please, my friends call me Crowe, all this ‘My Lording’ is quite tiresome,” he offered, “but what of you Miss Downing? Have you no wish to wed?”

Rose laughed, “Men seek a wife that is young and biddable - one who is content to run a house and be amiable whilst turning a blind eye to their misadventures. I am not such a woman. Should I ever be persuaded to tie myself to any man it would be because he is honest, respects me as an equal and loves me enough to honour his vows.” She sighed, “I am five and twenty, I am so long on the shelf that I resemble a bookend. The man I seek does not exist; therefore, I should be content to see my sisters happy and settled.”

Crowe raised his eyebrows, “Hmm. You’re very young to own such a cynical view.” He regarded her with a wry smile, “I suspect that you may be surprised what some men seek in a wife.”

**5**

Crowe was still considering Miss Downing a half-hour after she had departed. What a surprising female she was. The changes she had managed to put in place since controlling the estate were inspired. It was mainly due to her efforts that the accounts were still solvent. Why his Uncle had never invested any of his own personal wealth into the estate was a conundrum. The wealth was substantial. Modernisations could have been considered, and the tenant properties improved or rebuilt. Instead, his uncle had hoarded his coin and run the earldom on a pittance.

Miss Downing’s opinions on marriage were equally confounding. How, at five and twenty, could such an attractive lady be resigned to spinsterhood? It seemed nonsensical to him. Why did his Uncle not arrange for the sisters to be presented in society? They had connections enough. He certainly had the funds to dower them modestly. He hadn’t lied, none of the sisters was without beauty. His mind wandered to Miss Downing, Rose, her sisters, called her. It had taken a conversation to see that she hid herself in plain sight. Her hair was severely styled, and the manner of her dress gave the illusion of inconsequence. All of it a façade to detract interest he suspected, but why?

Crowe was sure of three things; first, the sisters were completely unaware of the requirements stipulated in his uncle’s will. Second, he was beginning to suspect that he knew which sister he wished to marry and third, she must never learn of the existence of the codicil.

Rose walked away from the estate office in confusion. He was not at all what she had expected. Having known him for less than a day, she was beginning to suspect her first impressions were undeserved. The Earl, or Crowe as he wished her to address him, was entirely more intelligent than she had initially credited. Keeping the spirits under lock and key seemed to have been an inspired move, she grinned. Perhaps, Crowe was less like his reprobate of an uncle than she had first feared. He certainly did not resemble him in any other way. His eyes were hazel with little flecks of green that seemed to dance with merriment even as his face gave nothing away. His voice changed in timbre from one subject to the next from droll and sardonic to smooth and hypnotic. She would need to be on her guard; that voice had the ability to scramble her good sense.

Turning the corner, she came across the music room. Louisa sat at the pianoforte in deep thought, sheet music spread out all around her. Rose entered the room quietly and sat unnoticed as her sister made her selection and began to play. Soft lilting music filled the room, and a serene expression settled over Louisa’s face. Such a gentle soul thought Rose. If her personality had been thus blessed, perhaps marriage may have been her destiny. Instead, she feared she would never be able to trust any man again. Louisa’s playing became less haunting and more animated as she moved through the movement, her expression shifting with every bar. Born several years after her elder sister, Louisa was one and twenty and still full of hope. Her countenance was open and her manner kindness itself. Hair a lighter shade of blonde than Rose and Maria’s, she had the same blue eyes. The Strathmore eyes, her father had called them. Louisa was by far the beauty in the family with classical elegance and poise. Maria at nineteen was mischievous and outspoken and, while she too charmed with her beauty, she confounded people just as quickly with her lack of reserve.

What if Crowe was serious? Would he really give the girls a London Season? It could be the opportunity they had been dreaming of. But what if HE was there? The one they didn’t speak of. He had inherited a few years ago and was now the 6th Viscount Foster. He remained unmarried, if the scandal sheets could be believed, and still a darling of society. There was nothing she wished to avoid more than to find herself face to face with her despicable, deceitful cousin. Could she do it? She was older and certainly wiser than she had been at twenty. Her sisters were still in the schoolroom at the time and knew nothing of her ‘almost’ disgrace. That she had cost them any chance of a come-out had weighed heavily upon her for years. Could Crowe help to ease their entry into society and allow them to find their joy as hers had been so abruptly denied her? Should she do it? Of course, she should. Despite her misgivings, she would speak to her sisters and if they chose to search for happiness amongst the ton, then enter the fray once more, she would.

**6**

A few days later, Crowe sat in his new favourite room. He had discovered this study hidden along a lesser-used passageway and assumed it had at one time belonged to an ancestor fond of solitude. The walls were covered in deep red damask and were adorned with paintings of horses and hounds. The furnishings were well worn but comfortable and along the walls were shelf upon shelf of old tomes. The maids had been called to remove the dust and to set the fireplace, and now there was a feeling of warmth and comfort about the place that only the most loved and well lived-in rooms could achieve.

Slowly making his way through a stack of mail, Crowe came across a letter that immediately made him grin. Along with Babbers, he could claim one other long-standing friendship. Sidney Parker was a rogue come reformed man since his marriage to Charlotte. Theirs had not been an easy or straightforward courtship. They had endured the prospect of ruination, a kidnapping and a blackmail attempt before affairs had culminated in hasty nuptials and nauseating wedded bliss. He chuckled to himself, Sidney was the epitome of a modern family man. He and his wife worked together tirelessly to improve their fortunes and ensure that Sanditon, the seaside health resort on the south coast they had helped to establish, continued to prosper. They had two children with a third expected soon. Between the Parkers and the Babington’s, the very notion that one could forge ahead into marriage for any reason but love was roundly dismissed as sheer folly.

He opened the letter that had been forwarded on from the Albany and groaned. It was his annual invitation to attend the Sanditon Cricket match, an event that took place on the beach and was a fiercely fought battle for supremacy between the town’s gentlemen and their workers. For three years straight, the gentlemen had fallen foul of the workers' dedicated strategy to outrun and out bowl their betters. He scowled at the thought, the devils were up to tricks he was sure. He took out a fresh piece of paper and scrawled a note to confirm that if he was able to, he would be delighted to attend. He added that his situation at present was somewhat uncertain, but in the interest of thwarting their opponents, he would endeavour to be there. He passed on his best wishes to Charlotte and sealed the missive. He followed that with a short note to Babington confirming the same and adding that he had not yet had the opportunity to discuss with Sidney his change in circumstances and would be obliged if he would allow him the chance to do so in person.

His thoughts returned to his present situation and in particular, his clandestine search for a wife. Twelve months was the timeframe in which his search must be concluded either in matrimony or find himself and the entire Earldom in dire straits. Rose Downing was a perplexing female. His interest had admittedly been fixed upon her prematurely; however, he found himself unable to even consider any other option. Louisa and Maria were both charming young ladies, but neither of them lit the spark of awareness in him that their prickly older sibling did. Since their conversation in the estate office a few days past, they had been on a slightly more congenial footing. Neither seemingly willing to rile the other. On occasion, he would catch her gaze as she studied him, and the temptation to raise his brow in challenge was hard to deny. It was obvious that she did not entirely trust him, or his motivations, and he could hardly blame her. However, for the moment, she seemed to be keeping her reservations to herself. By contrast, her sisters were both open and friendly in their regard, nonetheless, they were beginning to feel like the little sisters he had never himself been blessed with. Thoughts of marriage to either of those two made him feel slightly nauseous, essentially reducing his odds of success to one third.

A knock sounded on the study door, and Crowe bid the caller enter. He looked up just as Miss Downing crossed the threshold of the room and smiled. He was beginning to think of her smiles as keepsakes, so infrequently did she show them in his presence. Crowe metaphorically rolled his eyes at his own observation, sentimentality had no place in this arrangement, he told himself. He stood and bid her welcome.

“My Lord, I apologise for disturbing you,” Rose spoke politely.

“Crowe, and you are not disturbing me in the least. It is always a pleasure,” He replied. “How may I be of service?”

“Ah yes,” Sounding slightly discomforted, Rose continued, “A few days ago, we spoke about the prospect of allowing my sisters the opportunity to partake in the season. I wish to enquire as to whether your offer still stands?” She looked at him for a moment before lowering her gaze to the floor.

He was surprised to note a hint of colour in her cheeks, and he understood she had asked the question not on her own account but of her sisters. He smiled reassuringly, “I was entirely sincere in my offer, Miss Downing. However, the offer was for all three of you to participate.”

Rose looked up and regarded him with surprise, “I thought we had established that I was no longer a priority. I am quite content to accompany my sisters, but I have no intention of participating in the marriage mart. It would be ludicrous.”

“Assuredly not, Miss Downing. Your presence would be missed, and I must insist. I’m sure if you excluded yourself from entertainments, your sisters would be most disheartened,” he added. If he had any chance of courting her, opportunities must be factored into the endeavour, “If you do not wish it for yourself, then do so for your sisters.”

Rose found she could not argue. What would be the point? He had backed her into a corner, the scoundrel. Her solution had allowed her to reconcile time spent in town, without the need to attend society events. Annoyed, she nevertheless conceded.

**7**

A week or so passed and arrangements were put in place for the ladies to be hosted for the season by Crowe’s aunt, Lady Elizabeth Winters, who was his departed mother’s sister. She lived in a sprawling townhouse in Wimpole Street, he told them, just a stone’s throw from Bond Street. As the daughter and sister of an Earl, she was afforded the entrée needed to access the Haute ton. After receiving Crowe’s request for assistance, she had elected to journey to Berkshire to meet the Misses Downing in person.

It was a sunny April morning when a coach and four arrived at Wentworth. Footman raced to set down the step and assist Lady Elizabeth from her carriage. Crowe made his way down the steps to greet his aunt. Dressed in a rich burgundy travelling ensemble, his aunt looked well for her five and fifty years. Her hair was still deep mahogany, but around her temples, there were the inevitable wisps of grey that belied her age. Her face was handsome; with cheekbones much admired in women half her age, and her eyes, like two emeralds that sparkled with frightening intelligence, so much like his mother whom he had admired for her strength and fortitude.

“Frederick, my boy. You’ve done well for yourself. The Crowe family had its uses, after all, I see,” Lady Elizabeth scanned the façade of the large stately home. “Come, give your Aunt a kiss and help me up those steps. I am eager to greet my new charges.”

Crowe dutifully bussed his aunt’s cheek and led her up the sweeping set of steps to the entrance where the butler, Randall, bowed reverentially and accepted his aunt’s pelisse and bonnet. They made their way into the drawing room where the ladies were eagerly awaiting the arrival of their prospective sponsor.

“Aunt, may I introduce to you Miss Rose Downing, Miss Louisa and Miss Maria. Ladies, may I make known to you, my aunt, Lady Elizabeth Winters,” Crowe smiled warmly before settling his aunt into a chair.

“Well, girls. I have had some information from Frederick here, regarding your situation. I understand that none of you have been presented or has entered society, despite being the granddaughters of both an Earl and a Viscount,” Lady Elizabeth looked from one sister to the other before settling her gaze on Rose.

“Indeed, My Lady. That is, for the most part, true,” Rose replied carefully.

Lady Elizabeth arched an eyebrow and queried, “For the most part?”

Rose met her gaze directly and explained that during her twentieth year, she had briefly been upon the ton as the ward of the former Earl. However, the visit had been brief – a mere fortnight, before she had returned to Wentworth. A formal presentation had not occurred.

Crowe regarded her curiously for a moment but refrained from commenting.

Lady Elizabeth nodded and moved on, “Five years is a long time in the eyes of the ton. You will likely be regarded as a newcomer, and we must ensure that your arrival is conducted with the greatest propriety. For all intents and purposes, you are to be regarded as fresh-faced debutantes.” Her face softened into a smile, “You need not be concerned. You all have faces like angels and pretty manners from what I can see. A visit to a good modiste and a few lessons on the feminine accomplishments should be sufficient to launch you successfully. The season started a few weeks ago, but there are always latecomers to town. The fact that Frederick will need to take his seat in the Lords after three months of mourning is excuse enough for even the Grande Dames.”

Rose smiled. She noticed each time his aunt referred to him as Frederick he grimaced. She caught his eye, and he held her gaze, amusement resonated from him, but there was something else too. He seemed to study her more and more of late. He regarded her reactions and sought her opinion. He seemed to genuinely value the work she had been doing to aid the estate. It was all entirely unexpected.

The conversation turned to mundane topics as they drank tea and took refreshments. Aunt Elizabeth seemed delighted at the prospect of sponsoring the sisters and admitted to having been a little blue devilled of late for want of amusement.

Sometime later. Lady Elizabeth turned to Crowe and spoke, “Something has been bothering me since my arrival, nephew. It has only now occurred to me what has been amiss.” She regarded him shrewdly. “You’re sober.”

Crowe regarded his aunt sardonically. “Upon arrival, I was unable to locate a single drop of spirits. As the days passed, I found other things to distract me.” His gaze settled on Rose for a moment before offering his aunt a wry smile.

A giggle emanated from the chaise, where Maria was flicking through a copy of La Belle Assemblée. 

Crowe regarded Maria as a sudden thought teased him. “Maria? Have you something you’d like to tell me?”

Maria shared a horrified look with her sisters. Rose, he noted, looked to the heavens, as if asking for divine intervention, before clearing her throat and nodding perceptively at the other two. Meanwhile, Aunt Elizabeth watched this interaction with growing amusement.

Well, I’ll be damned, he thought, “Miss Downing?”

Rose squared her shoulders and raised her chin in defiance, “You must understand, the old Earl was a drinker, and his behaviour at times was insupportable. Indeed, the doctors proclaimed his drinking as the most likely cause of his demise.”

“And …” Crowe prompted, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “For there is certainly more, is there not Rose?” He realised too late that he had used her given name for the first time. The slip passed unremarked.

“Yes, well. I thought it prudent, given the circumstances, to lock all of the spirits away, until we knew better your character,” Rose answered defiantly. “You hardly proved the move unwarranted, given the manner of your arrival,” she added for good measure.

Crowe’s jaw dropped in surprise, and Lady Elizabeth howled with laughter. “Oh, I like this one nephew,” she said between bouts of hilarity.

Crowe snapped his jaw shut and regarded the scene before him. Rose was looking everywhere, but at him, her bravado from a moment ago had deserted her. Her sisters were giggling, and Aunt Elizabeth was still wiping mirthful tears from her eyes.

“Aunt, really,” he drawled. “It was not worthy of such glee. I’m sure Miss Downing did not intend to cause any insult by her subterfuge,” his gaze caught Rose’s and he winked.

Rose, discomforted by his lack of angry response, was on tenterhooks for the remainder of the day. The evening meal was a cheerful affair, and the food and wine were enjoyed by all. As the meal came to an end, Rose excused herself and made her way to the library. There she removed a bottle of brandy from a concealed cabinet and returned to the dining room to find that all but Crowe had vacated in favour of the family parlour. As she entered, she smiled sheepishly and offered him the bottle.

Crowe had risen to his feet as Rose entered the room, moving towards her, “Thank you, but I find that I have no appetite for spirits if I must partake alone. Will you join me?”

“I’m not sure that’s wise, My Lord,” she replied cautiously.

“One drink shared amongst friends,” he cajoled.

“One drink?” Rose replied sceptically.

“Agreed,” He placed the bottle on the table and strode across the room to retrieve two glasses. “I’ve found the last week or so refreshing. I should really thank you for diverting my attention away from the brandy. It makes life a deal more interesting when one sees it in daylight and without an aching head,” he admitted sincerely.

Rose sat and took the glass offered to her. “I’m glad,” she spoke quietly, realising she had been forgiven for her effrontery.

“Tell me,” Crowe began, “Was my uncle a drunkard?”

Rose considered the question before answering, “The old Earl was a melancholy sort who drank to excess. His behaviour became increasingly unpredictable before he succumbed. He would lash out at people in his employ and every morning, I believe, brought him fresh pain and guilt for his behaviour.”

Crowe regarded her carefully, “Did he lash out at you?”

She met his eyes, and he glimpsed pain there briefly before she glanced away, “He was best avoided whilst under the influence of spirits, and we tried our utmost to do so.”

“Rose?” he prompted.

“Verbally, yes,” she admitted. “He saved his physical outbursts for his valet and his former estate manager. It was one of the reasons why the position was vacant.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness such behaviour, Rose. It must have been difficult,” he replied softly. Crowe put down his glass and regarded her thoughtfully, “Spirits allow one’s moods to be amplified. If one is sad, it increases the pain until it is all-consuming. When happy, it can create great merriment - euphoria even. The effect can be addictive until one reaches the stage that one cannot cope with reality without it.”

“And you? Can you cope with reality without drinking?” She asked cautiously, aware of the impertinence of her question.

“Sometimes,” he replied, surprised by his own honesty. “It’s an escape: from boredom, from isolation, from the past.” He looked up and captured her gaze, “I have been a frivolous creature. I lived for the pursuit of pleasure and rejected anything that bore even a remote resemblance to responsibility. Lately, though, I have begun to witness the change in my friends upon the surprising event of their marriages. They have successfully overcome their demons, and I suspect the time is upon me to do the same.”

Rose sat in silence while Crowe spoke. He had surprised her again. Never had she imagined that he was capable of such candour. What purpose would he have for unburdening himself with his confession? Self-reproach? A warning perhaps? Or was he simply trying to highlight his shortcomings? Whatever the reason, he was trusting her with an insight into his life she suspected wasn’t offered to many. The thought warmed as much as unsettled her.

Crowe finished his drink and placed his glass decidedly on the table, “Now, shall we join the others?”

Rose took another sip of the burning spirit and then stood, “Indeed. Let us go.”

**8**

The next day or two went by in a flourish of activity as trunks were packed and schedules arranged. Lady Elizabeth and the sisters travelled in her stately carriage while Crowe elected to ride alongside. The journey would take several hours, and they had chosen to stop only once for refreshments and to change horses. Maria and Louisa chatted with Lady Elizabeth incessantly about all of the attractions the ton offered. Meanwhile, the lady herself smiled indulgently and elaborated and enthused where necessary. Every so often, she would cast a glance in Rose’s direction to find her focused on the passing scenery. Unusually quiet and contemplative, Rose found it difficult to ignore the trepidation she felt upon returning to the capital.

Crowe too, was lost in thought. His mind was very firmly on the last conversation he had shared with Rose. He had revealed a great deal to her that he had failed to articulate before, even to himself. He could admit now that he had enthusiastically embarked upon his life of dissipation. It was a choice he’d made partly to counter the disillusionment he felt with life, but also to fit in. Young bloods were supposed to be wild and dissolute. The trouble was, he was no longer a carefree young man. He had responsibilities, and those could not be discharged through revelry. Since that night in the dining room, he had not touched a drop of brandy. Whether he was proving to himself or Rose his ability to abstain willingly, he was not yet sure.

As they arrived in London and made their way to his Aunt’s townhouse, Crowe shook himself out of his contemplations. He would see the ladies settled and then leave them for his own residence situated on the illustrious Hanover Square. He had sent instructions to the London staff that he would be taking up residence for the season. Having never set foot in the place he was not entirely sure in what state of repair he would find the property. He’d been advised that in later years, his uncle had very rarely left Wentworth and he fully expected the house to reflect that.

As Crowe reached the residence, he halted and observed the property for a moment. It was an imposing building that was spread over four stories and was constructed of white Portland stone. The townhouses either side were similarly styled, and the Germanic influences were apparent in their design. There were no obvious signs of disrepair, and the steps were cleared and paint intact. He made his way around to the mews, where he found a stable hand to tend his mount. By the time Crowe had returned to the entrance, the door was open, and a severely countenanced butler stood in readiness to welcome him.

“Welcome My Lord. We have been expecting you,” The butler ushered him into the entrance hall. “I am Thornton, your butler. The staff will present themselves to you on the morn after you have had an opportunity to settle in. If I may take your hat and greatcoat, I shall show you to your guest, my Lord.”

“My guest?” Crowe regarded his butler in surprise, “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Before the butler could respond, a voice hailed, “Crowe!”

He turned to see Babington at the head of the stairs, “Well met, Babington! Good of you to anticipate my arrival.” To the butler, he requested tea and refreshments to be served and then made his way up the staircase to greet his friend.

A short time later, both men were ensconced in comfortable chairs beside a roaring fire in what Crowe assumed was the old Earl’s study. As the tea tray was brought in, Babington raised an eyebrow in question.

“Since when did you drink tea, Crowe?” Babington chuckled, “I always assumed you were born with brandy in your veins.”

“A gentleman may change his preferences if he so chooses,” Crowe replied with a sniff.

Babington laughed, “What the devil happened in Berkshire?” He stopped laughing abruptly and then asked, “Who happened to you, Crowe? For there is definitely a someone!”

Crowe rolled his eyes at his companion and replied, “Can a man not enjoy a cup of gunpowder after a long journey?”

“No,” answered a smirking Babington.

“Spill the beans, old chap. Someone, and I’m betting it’s one of your prospective brides, has tamed you. Good god man, I never thought I’d see the day,” Babington shook his head in disbelief.

“Tamed? Surely you jest,” Crowe replied caustically.

“Rose was just ensuring that I was not cut from the same cloth as my disagreeable uncle.”

“Rose? So there is a female,” Babington sat back with a grin.

“Nothing less than a woman would be capable of turning you to a life of sobriety. Wait till I tell Sidney.”

“I shall speak to Parker in my own time,” Crowe replied with an exasperated shake of his head. “Drink your tea.”

**9**

Rose had had precious little rest for the best part of a week. Between trips to the modiste, the milliner and every single shop on Bond Street, her days had been hectic indeed. Her wardrobe was full to bursting already, and they had only received a small part of their order. Fripperies, shoes and bonnets galore littered her chamber until she could scarcely find a place to sit. In addition to shopping, Lady Elizabeth had hired a dance master. Rose had forgotten how much she enjoyed dancing and was particularly pleased to learn the waltz. The very thought of dancing at a ball still filled her with terror, but at least she could now claim some accomplishment.

As the days had passed without any sightings of her cousin, Lord Foster, Rose had begun to relax. London was such a vast city, she told herself, the chances of encountering one man must surely be very slim.

This afternoon, Crowe was arriving to take them for their first carriage ride. The weather was warm and sunny, and Rose was determined to enjoy the occasion. Louisa and Maria arrived to escort her down to the entrance hall, where Crowe awaited them. Lady Elizabeth had declined in favour of taking tea with a friend.

“Ladies. How lovely you all look. Positively ravishing my dears,” Crowe smiled widely as they made their way down the last few steps. “We shall need to be armed with smelling salts, to revive all of the young bucks as they faint at the sight of you!”

Maria and Louisa giggled at the overdone compliment while Rose rolled her eyes in despair. Their Earl was in a silly mood indeed.

“Have you been tippling this morning, My Lord?” She asked with a grin.

In feigned shock, he gasped and retorted, “Mademoiselle, you wound me,” he laughed. “Can a gentleman not bestow a compliment without being called a sot!”

The merry party departed Wimpole Street for the short journey to Hyde Park. Rose smiled with genuine pleasure as the barouche moved along at a steady pace. Crowe, who sat beside her on the forward-facing seat, pointed out things of interest along the route and, because he had such a talent for dry witticisms, there was much laughter along the way. The atmosphere was relaxed as they entered Rotten Row, despite being slowed to almost a snail’s pace as carriage after carriage joined the fashionable procession. Rose wondered at Crowe’s attentiveness. His every word and action seemed to be aimed at assuring her enjoyment of the outing. On more than one occasion, she had caught him studying her intently, for him to then shift his focus towards something else entirely. His perusal caused her breath to catch as nerves assailed her; ridiculous reaction indeed, she thought.

Crowe instructed the driver to pull to the side of the thoroughfare so that they may walk for a while. He jumped to the ground before helping the ladies down from the carriage; first Louisa and then Maria, before finally assisting Rose. In a movement so deft as to appear entirely commonplace, he retained Rose’s hand, placing it through the crook of his arm, before setting off in the wake of Louisa and Maria who were already strolling away, parasols twirling, in the late spring sunshine.

Crowe considered the lady at his side. Although taller than her sisters, Rose was still a good deal shorter than he. As he walked beside her, he could appreciate fully, her natural grace and femininity. Her hips held a sway that was delicate yet mesmerising, and her absolute ignorance of her appeal to the opposite sex was as refreshing as it was enticing. Rose did not flutter her lashes or flatter and fawn; he doubted she knew how to deploy her feminine wiles. Her smile, when bestowed could light a room, and her laughter was a soothing balm to a jaded soul. He was not the sort of romantic gentleman to quote sonnets and verse, but there was a certain appeal to immortalising beauty to be revisited in moments of quiet reflection.

Beside him, Rose spoke, “Are we to have no conversation, My Lord?”

Realising that he had been lost in his own thoughts, he smiled crookedly, “I’m sorry, Rose, I was wool-gathering, please accept my apologies for neglecting you.” He added contritely, “And it’s Crowe.”

“Crowe, then. May I ask what has you so absorbed? Perhaps the company is not diverting enough for you?” Rose enquired with a laugh.

“Impertinent wench!” Crowe replied in feigned outrage. Smiling, he added softly, “My thoughts were lost in admiration of the beauty that surrounds me, and the diverting company that offers it.” Regarding her for a long moment, he was gratified to see her blush. She wasn’t immune to him after all, he was pleased to note.

Taking pity on her sensibilities, Crowe changed the subject, “Are you ready for your first foray into society, Rose? My aunt tells me that all the preparations are in place for the ball tomorrow.”

Rose, thankful for the return to safer topics, smiled broadly. Crowe’s breath caught upon sight of that smile. Unguarded and joyful, and utterly beguiling. He rubbed his chest absently to mask the momentary discomfort he felt there.

“Lady Elizabeth has been a marvel. I swear the Duke of Wellington could have used your aunt to plan his campaign,” Rose laughed. “I must admit that I am very much looking forward to dancing. There were very few occasions to do so at Wentworth.”

“A travesty indeed. We must ensure that you have the opportunity to dance every set, although I suspect you will have your dance card filled almost immediately.” He smiled in return as he asked, “Which have you found to be your favourite dance?”

“I enjoy most dances, but I have recently been introduced to the waltz. I very much look forward to practising what I have learnt,” Rose spoke wistfully.

“Then I must ask you to reserve me a waltz – the Supper Dance if you would do me the honour?” Crowe grinned devilishly, “Although, as your guardian, I should also be required to open the dancing with you as the eldest of your sisters. So perhaps you would be so kind as to save the first waltz for me also.”

Rose looked at him, suspiciously. She did not possess much experience of the propriety expected by the Haute ton. Still, she did remember that two dances with one gentleman signified a declaration of preference that would not go unnoticed. “Two waltzes? We would cause a stir, would we not?” She cautiously enquired.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. I shall ensure that I partner each of your sisters in addition to yourself. No one would dare question propriety,” Crowe hoped not anyway. Despite the risk of raised eyebrows, he did expect to subtly make his interest known.

**10**

The evening of the ball had arrived. Maria and Louisa had joined Rose in her chamber to dress. For her sisters, this was their first society event, and they were bubbling with nerves and anticipation. Rose tried to reassure them that all would be well; no one would forget their dance steps or say the wrong thing or otherwise embarrass themselves. She regarded the picture they made all dressed in their finery. Louisa wore a pale blue gown that was both demure and feminine. Her pale blonde hair had been swept up into an elaborate style adorned with pearl-encrusted combs. Maria wore a dress of purest white, embroidered with exquisitely detailed silver flowers. Her hair was coiled and threaded with daisies. She looked young and fresh and as virtuous as any young lady ought. Rose herself wore a gown of elegant silk. A slightly more sophisticated design than her sister’s gowns, in an unusual shade of dusky pink. Her hair was softened by a sleek chignon and studded with beautiful pink rosebuds in the same shade as her dress. Around her throat, she wore a simple gold chain and locket.

A knock sounded at the door, and Lady Elizabeth swept into the room. “Well, let me get a look at you,” She regarded them with interest.

Dutifully they presented themselves for inspection. Lady Elizabeth smiled and declared they were diamonds of the first water. Her warm gaze lingered on Rose a final time before ushering them all from the chamber.

As they made their way down the elaborate staircase, the ladies were greeted by Crowe. His expression, one of admiration.

“Stop gawping, nephew,” chastised his aunt. “Did I not tell you to prepare yourself? Dance partners will need to be selected carefully, or we shall have a stampede on our hands this evening,” Lady Elizabeth cautioned.

“My Lady, I’m sure you are exaggerating. We have little to offer prospective suitors. I’m sure any interest we generate this evening will soon wane,” Rose feared her sisters would be heartily disappointed by the fickleness of many of the ton’s gentlemen whose only real purpose was to pursue fortunes.

“Not so, Miss Downing,” Crowe reverted to the formal address in deference of the occasion. “You have many qualities that are eagerly sought amongst marriage-minded gentleman.”

Rose regarded him sceptically but chose not to contradict. He would see soon enough, she supposed. However, tonight must be the triumph they had all planned. Her sisters’ expectations of a glorious come-out were the only thing that mattered this night.

Rose, Louisa and Maria joined Lady Elizabeth in the receiving line while Crowe took up his position as host within the ballroom. Some of the first to arrive were Lord Babington, his wife Esther, as she bade them call her, and Lord Babington’s sister Lady Augusta. The affable lord smiled warmly upon introduction and explained that he and Crowe were old friends. Esther regarded Rose shrewdly, and after several minutes of conversation, nodded and proclaimed herself satisfied. 

Before Rose could ask her meaning, a familiar voice sounded in the entrance hall. All colour drained from her face and panic overtook her usually calm exterior. Lady Babington followed her gaze and without further comment, began to usher Rose away from the line. Lady Elizabeth, who had also noted the change in countenance of her eldest charge, waved and whispered, “Go. Take a moment. We will manage without you.”

Esther escorted Rose in the direction of the ladies retiring room. Thankfully, the chamber was unoccupied, and they made their way inside. Rose sat heavily on one of the upholstered chairs set aside for ladies to recover from the heat and exertion of the ballroom. Taking a deep breath, tears threatened her composure.

She regarded Esther apologetically, “What must you think of me?”

“Miss Downing. Rose,” Esther spoke softly. “We have just met, and I may have overstepped, but you were distressed. In the absence of any closer acquaintance, please know that if there is any way I can assist; you need only say.”

“You are very kind,” Rose smiled weakly. “It was a surprise that is all. I never expected to ever see him again - Lord Foster, that is. He is a cousin.”

Esther studied Rose for a moment before sitting down beside her. “Rose. What I saw in your face was not mere surprise.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Many years ago, I found myself at the mercy of a man. He was my stepbrother, Edward Denham. Edward and I grew up together, and I became dependent upon him in every way possible. Edward used my feelings as a way to control me. He promised me the world, yet he ultimately betrayed my trust.”

Rose recognised in Esther, someone who may understand. She began tentatively, “Richard Strathmore, my cousin, was heir to his father’s title when our paths crossed approximately five years ago. He was kind and courteous, and although our acquaintance was short, he paid me special attention. I had travelled up to town with my guardian, the last Earl of Frogmore who, believing me in safe hands, allowed Richard to squire me about. As the days passed, he became more and more familiar until on one occasion – we were at a soiree - he persuaded me to try a little champagne. I was not used to drinking anything stronger than ratafia, and I became a little tipsy. Richard escorted me to a quiet room to allow me to compose myself and reassured me that if he stayed with me, with the door closed, no one would learn of my inappropriate behaviour. ‘It would be our little secret’ he said.”

Rose took a shuddering breath before continuing, “After a short while, he began to tell me how much he admired me. He sat beside me on the sofa and began stroking my arm. Before I understood what was happening, he had pushed himself upon me and was kissing me.” She shuddered in revulsion. “When I tried to struggle, he became angry and tore my dress. It was then that the Earl happened upon us. Richard called me a tease and a fortune hunter. My guardian was furious and threatened him to silence. After which, I was sent back to Wentworth in disgrace.”

“Oh, Rose!” Esther clasped Rose’s hand in hers, “How simply shocking. It’s little wonder you reacted as you did when you saw the scoundrel.”

“My guardian, the previous Earl of Frogmore, is now dead. What is to stop Richard from revealing what happened. I could bring ruin upon my sisters and embarrass Lady Elizabeth and Crowe.” Fresh tears spilt onto her cheeks as fear gripped her once more.

Esther regarded her carefully for a moment, “Tonight is a special occasion. Society is right outside that door, ready to welcome you and your sisters. You must be strong and return to the ballroom and continue as if this had never occurred. The only way to face down a bully is to confront them.”

Rose looked entirely sceptical at the suggestion.

“Don’t be afraid. It will work out for the best, but …” Esther began uncertainly.

“But what?” Rose was almost afraid to ask.

“But … we must make this matter known to Crowe, and with your permission, Babington. Both are unfailingly discreet, but most importantly, they both used to run in the same set as Foster. They will be best placed to understand how to evaluate the threat and silence him if necessary,” Esther concluded.

Rose looked aghast at the prospect of relaying this matter to Crowe. “How can I tell him?” she asked in desperation, “I will lose his good opinion. How could he not think badly of me?”

Esther chuckled, “Crowe has skeletons in his cupboard enough to forgive an indiscretion, and I doubt there is much that could alter his regard for you, in any case.”

Rose sucked in a breath and then slowly nodded, “Let it be as you’ve said. I cannot hide in here all night in fear of discovery. I will have to trust that this matter can be settled and that I have not just caused my own downfall by failing to bring this matter to light before now.”

**11**

Crowe searched frantically for Rose. Babington and Augusta had found him welcoming guests and relayed news of the incident that had sent her and Esther fleeing from the receiving line. The dancing was about to start, and his first set was promised to Rose, if only he could find her.

“Crowe!” a voice hailed him from behind, “How the devil are you? I should call you Frogmore, I S’pose, should I not?” Viscount Foster grinned.

“Foster. Good of you to come. Please excuse me, I am expected for the first dance,” Crowe turned and walked a few stepped and then saw her. Standing under the arch that separated the ballroom from one of the anterooms. Esther was still with her, and they were joined by Louisa. As he approached, he heard her assure her sister of her wellbeing and thanking Esther for her support. She noticed him just before he joined their small group. She regarded him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was troubled, and he intended to find out why.

“Miss Downing. The dancing is about to start, and I believe I have the pleasure of opening the ball with you,” he smiled and offered his arm.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, in which she cast Esther a worried glance. Then she took his arm and smiled. This time he felt that smile all the way to his toes. As he guided her to the centre of the ballroom, she determinedly refused to look anywhere but at the floor. He positioned them and took hold of her waist. With his other hand, he gently brushed her chin, encouraging her to raise her eyes to meet his own. She did so reluctantly, and a blush crept over her skin as she met his gaze head-on. Taking her hand, he smiled and said quietly, “Courage.”

Then the music began.

Rose looked up into Crowe’s eyes and for the duration of the dance forgot all of her woes. He held her closer than she believed was appropriate but did not have the will to put distance between them. The music lulled them into a place where the outside world did not exist. As she regarded him, she noted his hazel eyes darkened to a warm brown; soft and inviting. After the first few turns around the floor, others began to join the dance, and they surrendered the veil of intimacy that had befallen them.

“I am pleased to see that you are once again yourself, Rose. Will you tell me what has occurred to discompose you so?” Crowe ventured, at last, his voice as smooth as velvet and so obviously full of concern.

“Let’s not speak of it now, Crowe. Can we not finish this dance and save the worry for later?” she replied beseechingly.

“Rose?” he returned, unconvinced. “You must promise when this dance is finished, we will discuss this.”

Reluctantly she nodded her agreement. They continued to swirl around the floor in perfect unison. Their bodies communicating without words and Crowe wondered why this lady should be so different from the countless others he had danced with. He felt a connection to Rose that was almost hypnotic in its hold over him. He was reluctant to name the emotions that flooded his chest yet, he suspected he was on a path of no return.

As the dance came to an unwelcome end, Crowe was forced to relinquish his partner. As he bowed his retreat, he whispered, “Be on the terrace in one hour.”

Rose was engaged to dance the next two dances and was counting the minutes until her meeting with Crowe, with both anticipation and dread. Lord Babington was a delightful partner. They danced an energetic reel, and he made her laugh frequently. Standing with Lady Elizabeth and a few of her acquaintances, Rose was still catching her breath and awaiting her next dance partner when a voice cleared behind her.

“Rosemary, I have begged your next dance from Lord Grasmere, as I was so keen to become reacquainted with my dear cousin. I hope you don’t mind the change of partner,” He drawled.

Rose froze as ice crept through her veins at the sound of that voice. With no other choice available to her, for Lady Elizabeth was unaware of either the connection or their antipathy, she turned and faced her nightmare.

“Lord Foster. How kind of you to come,” she managed somehow to stop her voice from shaking. The very sight of his auburn hair and icy blue eyes filled her with dread.

He offered his arm, and she hesitatingly accepted. I will not let him see how he affects me, she told herself sternly. As he led her to the floor, Rose was exceptionally glad that they were to dance the quadrille. There would be very little time to converse.

“Imagine my surprise to find you once more in London, cousin. I had thought you would be tucked away in some provincial town; the wife of a country squire or some such. Instead, I find you once again upon the ton and parading around with your betters,” all trace of reconciliation gone from his voice.

Any illusion Rose may have clung to that Richard would be benevolent and fail to bring up the past was now disabused. Rose spoke quietly, “The new Earl of Frogmore, as guardian to my sisters and I, offered to bring us amongst the ton. He and his aunt, Lady Elizabeth Winters, have been all that is kind.”

“Ah, yes. Crowe. He is as dissolute as they come. He will have his hands up your skirts before the season ends, mark my words,” Richard spewed bitterly, as the dance parted them once more.

Rose, feeling nauseous, refrained from comment and tried to ignore her growing unease. As the dance finally came to an end, Rose bobbed a barely civil curtsey and turned to leave. It was almost time to meet with Crowe.

Richard grasped her arm and whispered, “We have unfinished business cousin-dearest. Your protector is dead, and his heir will not lift a finger when he knows what a slut you really are.” He released her and walked away.

As sedately as she could manage, Rose fled the ballroom, reaching the relative solitude of the terrace moments later. The last few lingering couples made their way inside, and she was left for a few minutes, in eerie silence. A noise behind her alerted her to the presence of another person, she spun around in alarm but slumped at the sight of Crowe.

He regarded her strangely before striding across the terrace to face her. He lifted his hand and removed his glove. Watching her every move, he stroked her cheek gently before asking, “Rose? What is the matter?”

Whether it was the tension and distress of the evening or the tenderness of his touch, Rose was uncertain, but tears began to cloud her vision before finally spilling onto her cheeks. Crowe reached for her and pulled her into an embrace. Burying her head into his waistcoat, the very warmth and comfort of his arms around her helped to calm her fears and ease the tightness in her chest.

Crowe felt the moment that Rose had regathered her strength and gently pulled away so that he could regard her properly. He kept his arms around her as the need to hold her was overwhelming, but at last, he could see the despair had left her and, in its place, a veil of calmness descended.

Looking up at him, she realised Esther had been right. She could not endure this alone. Her fear of discovery was outweighed by the need to protect those she cared for. Leaving his embrace, she took his hand and led him to a stone bench situated at the far end of the terrace. He sat beside her and remained silent, allowing her to tell her tale in her own time. Haltingly she began to explain. Crowe listened intently, holding her hand the entire time. Only when she concluded did he speak.

“I owe you an apology, Rose. It was I who issued the invitation to Foster after learning of your connection to him. I thought that having relations in attendance would ease your passage into society. You have no idea how sorry I am to have brought this pain upon you.” Crowe regarded her solemnly, “I saw you dance with him a short time ago. Did he give you further cause for alarm?”

“He left me under no illusion of his animosity towards me and suggested that the matter is not settled,” she frowned. “He claims we have unfinished business.”

Crowe stood and began pacing, incensed. “I will kill him, the blaggard!” he growled.

“No, Crowe. Esther suggested that between yourself and Lord Babington, you may be able to find a way to prevent him from breaking his silence,” Rose pleaded.

“Yes, yes,” he considered for a moment, “You may be right.”

Moving towards her once more, he pulled her to her feet. “Rose, I swear to you that I will do everything within my power to make this matter go away. I won’t allow anything to harm you or your sisters. You must believe me.”

“I believe you will do whatever you can to remove this threat, but you must see that there is a real risk that by remaining in London, I am more likely to provoke his ire,” Rose swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought of leaving once more under a cloud of disgrace.

Crowe considered her response for a moment before slowly nodding his head, “You’re right, until this matter is settled, we should remove you and your sisters from town.” He saw the crestfallen look that blighted her features, “Not permanently Rose, but a break perhaps. The timing may be considered a little odd, considering we have only recently come to town, but perhaps a trip to the coast? Babington and I try to attend Sanditon every year to participate in the annual cricket match there. We could make a party of it and explain our absence away as a prior commitment.”

Rose, slightly confused, asked, “Sanditon? What manner of place is that?”

Crowe smiled enigmatically, “A place where anything can happen.”

**12**

A few days later, Rose was sat in another carriage, taking her away from London once more. She smiled. This time she was not alone.

“Crowe, tell us more about Sanditon. Is it a fashionable place? Will there be entertainments?” asked Maria eagerly.

Louisa, who sat beside her sister, laughed, “Give Crowe some peace, Maria. You’ve been asking questions since we left this morning.” She looked across at her elder sister Rose and returned her amused smile.

“I’m sure there will be some society. The cricket match is always well attended. The annual Sanditon Regatta will be held in a few weeks, should we choose to stay that long. All of London decamps to the south coast for the regatta,” Crowe assured them.

Rose reflected on the ball three nights past and the confession she had made to Crowe on the terrace. They had returned to the ballroom to find the despicable Lord Foster had already left. Rose had been greatly relieved. They had enjoyed their second dance without fear or apprehension. Their waltz had been filled with affection and intimacy, and Rose understood for the first time that she was no longer alone. The remainder of the evening had passed without upset or incident. The night had been a triumph after all, and the sisters had been proclaimed an enormous success.

Following the ball, Crowe had joined Babington and Esther for a nightcap at Beecham House. Babington had been shocked by the retelling of Rose’s tale. Plans were made to commence discreet enquiries into Foster, and travel arrangements agreed for their stay in Sanditon. Crowe had left then but not before Babington had questioned him on the manner of his attachment to Rose.

“Well, Crowe, you seem to be heading pell-mell towards the parson’s mousetrap,” Babington smirked, “You couldn’t have fallen in love with a finer lady.”

“What! No, Babington. You are mistaken,” Crowe had replied in alarm. “Of the three sisters, Rose is the one who best suits my needs, is all. As Rose has been managing Wentworth for some time, the transition to Countess will be an easy one. I will be able to continue my life, knowing that things will not be neglected.”

“And what of your Countess?” Babington asked in disbelief, “Will she not be neglected should you choose to leave her rotting in Berkshire? Admit it, man, you’re smitten.”

“What rot! Rose will have her sisters for company,” Crowe replied defensively.

“I will admit to a certain attraction to the lady. I admire her strength and resilience. But I am not nor will I ever be smitten,” Crowe had scoffed and left Beecham House in high dudgeon, knowing himself to be an atrocious liar.

As he considered the conversation days later, he found himself dwelling on his friend’s words.

Love, for a man such as he, was sheer folly. What did it mean anyway? Love? From what he had witnessed, it had driven sensible, decent men to drink and despair whilst their ladies controlled them with their fickle emotions. Disastrous endeavour indeed. No, a marriage based on practicality, respect and mutual attraction would suffice. It would have to - he could offer no more than that.

They stopped to change the horses at a coaching inn called the Nags Head. It was decided that they would rest and partake in some refreshment. Just as they were entering the inn, a second coach arrived belonging to Lord and Lady Babington. A short while later they were ensconced comfortably within one of the inns private dining parlours. A merry party indeed; the Babington’s had travelled with their small children who immediately captured the hearts of all present.

Crowe observed the high spirits with a smile and motioned for Babington to join him in the taproom. They made their way into the public salon and ordered themselves an ale.

“My coachman is concerned, Babbers. There’s a storm brewing, and he suspects it will hit before we make Sanditon,” Crowe explained.

Babington frowned, “I suspected as much. The weather has been stifling, and the winds have been whipping the tails of my carriage horses. What do you suggest? Shall we break the journey here?”

“Indeed. If we set off at first light tomorrow, we will be in Sanditon by midday. The cricket match is scheduled for two. We can still make it in time,” Crowe replied, taking a sip of his malty brew. “I shall enquire about rooms.”

Later that evening, after retiring early, Rose found herself unable to sleep. It had been a good many years since her mind had raced with thoughts of a man. Not just any man; one whom she could imagine herself spending her life with. At supper, Crowe had positioned himself beside her and had been nothing, if not attentive. When her glass was empty; he had been prompt to refill it. When she had shivered; he had retrieved her shawl to warm her. He had spoken almost exclusively to her, and when drawn into the others conversation, he had sought her opinions. On one such occasion, Esther had caught her eye and smiled knowingly. Each time he touched her, inadvertently or not, Rose’s skin heated, and every gaze that he caught and held made her breathless. Could this mean that she was finally opening herself once more to the prospect of falling in love?

The wind was howling, and rain battered the windowpane. Rose decided to search her belongings with the intention of finding a novel she had packed for the journey. Her search was disturbed by the sound of voices coming from the corridor beyond her chamber door. Muffled at first; they became clearer as they neared the room.

“So, Crowe when do you intend to make your offer? Your choice of sister is inspired,” Babington’s voice filtered into the room. “Although all three are charming.”

“I still have almost eleven months remaining if I am to meet the terms of the codicil, plenty of time to persuade the lady to be my countess,” Crowe replied dismissively.

“Yes, my friend, but will you be able to wait that long? I’ve seen the way you look at her,” Babington chuckled. “Have you considered what you will do if the lady rejects your offer?”

“Turn down the opportunity to become the mistress of Wentworth?” Crowe responded casually, “I think it unlikely. But if such an event occurs, I would have to turn my mind to one of her sisters. Thankfully, the will did not stipulate which one I must marry, so all would not be a complete loss.”

“I must say, Crowe, your attitude is a little cold, don’t you think? No lady wishes to believe herself replaceable,” Babington replied, disapproval clear.

“Which is why she must never know,” Crowe snapped before the voices moved away once more.

Dumbstruck, Rose stood silently for a moment, heart pounding with confusion. The butterflies she felt in her stomach upon unexpectedly hearing Crowe speak had abruptly turned to nausea. She staggered towards the bed and sat slowly. All this time, she had thought the connection between them had been real. His attentions towards her had been those of someone who cared a great deal. How could she have gotten it all so wrong? Did her experience with her despicable cousin not teach her anything? A single tear escaped her eyes and moistened her cheek. Swiping at it angrily, Rose cursed herself for being, once again, a fool.

Crowe closed the door to his chamber. He had decided against his valet joining him, and at this moment he was glad. Once again, Babington had pressed him to define his feelings regarding Rose. The fool was a romantic. How the devil was he supposed to put into words what he didn’t understand?

The fire in his chamber had been stoked, and he welcomed the warmth as he sat in one of the comfortable chairs arranged around the hearth. This evening had been a delight. For longer than he could remember, he had been the interloper, yet here tonight, he had felt he belonged. The warmth he had witnessed between his friends and their spouses had been as foreign to him as a china man in Mayfair. But tonight … tonight he had been wrapped in a blanket of warm feelings and realised they were his own. His every thought and deed had been entirely focused on ensuring Rose’s comfort. Her smiles made him as weak-kneed as a green lad, and her blushes made him feel as if he could conquer the world. He was beginning to suspect that Babington had the right of it. He was smitten.

**13**

The following morning brought blue skies once more. The storm had left a freshness to the air that made anything seem possible. Crowe rose and dressed, taking extra time in his ablutions. He tied and retied his cravat three times until he was satisfied with the result. During the night, thoughts of Rose had plagued him. Her golden hair and azure eyes had haunted him, her smile had caused his heart to ache and his body to scream with need. Babington was right, the timing was irrelevant. He would begin his courtship today. Once this business with Foster was concluded, he would ask for her hand.

As he reached the private dining room where his party were to break their fast, he was struck by the happy scene that greeted him. Rose was seated, baby George swaddled in her arms, Sophia and Marcus by her side chattering animatedly. She laughed at something Marcus had said, pure joy illuminating her features. Crowe sucked in a breath as his lungs failed him. Never before had he wanted such a scene to be his reality. His wife, his children. Momentarily transfixed in his daydream, he failed to hear Babington greet him.

Startled from his thoughts, he bid his friend a good morning. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rose had noted his arrival. He turned to greet her and stopped. Her expression, usually so open and friendly, had turned to stone. She regarded him silently before looking away. Unease wound its way through him as he tried to comprehend her dismissal.

Despite his misgivings, Crowe joined the group and feigned good humour, he laughed and joked with Babington and paid flowery compliments to the ladies. At no point did Rose contribute so much as a syllable to their animated conversation. Babington, eyebrows raised, sent him a questioning look, as time after time his efforts to draw Rose into conversation fell on deaf ears.

Eventually, it was time to re-join the carriages. As trunks were loaded once more, Crowe took an opportunity to speak to Rose alone, purposely timing his exit from the inn with hers.

“Rose” he began as she started to move away. “Wait, wait, wait!” he called desperately.

She stood for a moment and then slowly turned, “My Lord, can I help you with something?” Rose responded, frostily.

“Yes, dammit,” He scowled at her tone. “Has something happened to upset you, Rose? You seem out of sorts.”

She regarded him carefully before offering a mirthless laugh, “No, My Lord, everything is exactly as it ought.”

“Stop ‘My Lording’ me, Rose, we are long past that kind of formality. Something is clearly wrong. Tell me?” Crowe regarded Rose with concern, bordering panic.

“My Lord, even with the benefit of another eleven months acquaintance, we would still require such a formality,” She replied with disdain. Turning on her heel, she left the inn and made for the coach.

Crowe stood for a moment, unable to move. Eleven months of acquaintance, that was quite specific, he thought before realisation dawned. Oh, god!

Rose settled herself into the carriage, her temper was barely holding on by a thread. How dare he pretend concern? What right did he have to expect familiarity between them? For some reason, and she could think of only one – money, he was obliged to marry. That he had supposedly chosen her as his prospective spouse was immaterial as she was easily exchangeable with her sisters, it seemed.

In an effort to defuse tensions and to allow himself time to think, Crowe elected to hire a hack for the remainder of the journey to Sanditon. His mount was built for endurance rather than speed, and as he plodded along in the coach’s wake, he considered his predicament. What had occurred since last evening when Rose had retired? He had accompanied her to her room and bid her goodnight. There had been an intimacy in the exchange, he was sure of it. He had kissed her hand in parting, and she had blushed before retreating into her chamber. After which, he had returned downstairs to join the others. He and Babington had removed to the taproom sometime later, and he had enjoyed his first taste of brandy in a week. After one drink, he and Babington, in deference to their early start, had made their way back upstairs to their rooms. He recalled they spoke of Rose … dear god! Had she heard them talking? She must have done. Mindless of where they were conversing, there was every chance their conversation could have carried through doors in the quiet inn. It would seem that his sterling efforts to keep Babington from realising the depths of his feelings for Rose, had been overheard and interpreted in the same way by the lady herself.

Anger and frustration were Crowe’s companions for the remainder of the journey. They arrived at The Crown hotel a little after noon. Babington, Esther and the children had gone on ahead to Sanditon House, the home of the formidable Lady Denham, Esther’s aunt.

**14**

After refreshing themselves and changing into more appropriate attire, they made their way to the beach. Rose and her sisters walked arm in arm, chatting quietly behind Crowe as he led the way to their destination; the annual cricket match.

As they arrived, Crowe noted Babington was stood with Sidney, who looked relaxed and as happy as Crowe could ever recall seeing him. He greeted them with a handshake and a semblance of a smile.

“Good to see you, Crowe. It’s been too long.” Sidney asked. “What’s new?”

Crowe turned to Babington, “You didn’t tell him?”

Babington smirked, “Hell no. It’s far more amusing coming from you.”

Sidney raised his eyebrows, “Well?”

“Hmph,” he began.

“My uncle passed away a few months back. Dreadfully dull chap. He never married. I have inherited the estate. Seems the old miser was sat on a pile of blunt,” Crowe scowled.

“Surely that’s good news?” Sidney replied.

Babington was no longer trying to hide his amusement, “Just wait … there’s more,” he laughed.

“It seems I also inherited a blasted title. You are looking at the newly minted 7th Earl of Frogmore,” Crowe, grimaced, flicking a piece of imaginary lint from his coat sleeve.

“That’s not the worst of it. The old curmudgeon stated in his will that in order to inherit the unentailed wealth, which makes up the largest part of the estate, I must marry within 12 months. Seemed the old bastard doesn’t wish to leave things to chance,” Crowe gestured dismissively behind him to a group of three young ladies, “Not only must I marry, but I must marry one of those simpering misses.”

Babington raised his eyebrows at the condescending remark but didn’t comment.

“Why them specifically?” Sidney regarded the ladies for a moment, they seemed nice enough.

“Damned if I know,” said Crowe morosely. “They were his wards. Cousins on his mother’s side or some such.”

Sidney regarded Crowe for a moment, “I am not calling you Frogmore,” and then doubled over with laughter.

Crowe sniffed dismissively, “While you two entertain yourselves at my expense, I shall be drinking myself into oblivion.” With that, he stalked off in the direction of the refreshments.

Rose watched Crowe’s retreating back as he headed towards one of the marquees. She scowled and reminded herself that he was no longer her concern. If he intended to become blindingly drunk, that was his choice. Since their encounter at the inn, they had barely spoken a word. Why he was angry, she couldn’t guess, after all, he had made his feelings quite clear.

Babington approached, accompanied by possibly the most handsome gentleman Rose had ever seen. His dark hair and chiselled features reminiscent of the sculptures she had viewed years ago in the British Museum. Although, his eyes were perhaps a darker shade than she preferred, and his expression whilst friendly, lacked the character and animation she had recently come to admire.

“Miss Downing, Miss Louisa, Miss Maria, May I make known to you, Mr Sidney Parker,” Babington smiled warmly as introductions were exchanged.

“Sidney is one of mine and Crowe’s oldest and dearest friends. Ah, here is his wife. Come Charlotte, I’d like to introduce you to some friends of Crowe,” Babington beamed.

A stunningly pretty lady, perhaps a similar age to Rose, joined them. Her rounded middle proudly announced the lady was anticipating an exciting event. She smiled widely at Rose and her sisters before slipping her arm through her husbands.

“Welcome to Sanditon. Any friend of Crowe’s is a friend of ours … for the most part, there was that one fellow,” she looked up at her husband, who grinned, “but forgive me I talk too much.” Charlotte laughed.

Babington conducted the introductions just before the call to play was announced. The men left the ladies to find a seat and began to prepare themselves for the match.

“Sidney, I shall just go and drag Crowe from the spirits, or we shall be a man short,” Babington motioned to the refreshment tent.

“Quite a shock he’s had, I should think,” Sidney offered in compensation for Crowe’s absence.

“That’s not the whole of it, I’m afraid. The poor man is heart-sick,” Babington said with a frown. “I suspected that he was well on his way to making Miss Rose Downing a proposal of marriage. However, something occurred this morning that has set them at daggers drawn. Can’t understand it, myself. They seem perfect for one another.”

Sidney considered his friend for a moment, “Crowe? In love? I thought he said marriage was an obligation?”

“Yes, well. He can say that all he likes, but I’ve seen the way he looks at her, and the way he has conducted himself over the past few weeks is nothing short of miraculous. He even stopped drinking.” Babington replied, unsurprised as a look of disbelief fell over Sidney’s face. “Until today, I have seen, but one drink pass his lips.”

Leaving Sidney, Babington strolled to the tent to collect his erstwhile friend.

“Crowe, good god man! How many drinks have you sunk? We have a match to play,” noticing the almost empty bottle of brandy on the table in front of him.

Crowe regarded his friend through cup-shot eyes, “Just a couple to take the edge off, Babbers. A man cannot survive on gunpowder alone.” He swayed slightly.

“Fine time to fall off the wagon, Crowe. There are ladies present,” Babington sighed in exasperation.

“Don’t talk of ladies. Pfft. There’s only one lady for me, and she … she _despises_ me,” Crowe slurred mournfully. “Why the devil do you think I’m imbibing?”

“Well, this is hardly the way to go about winning her back, now, is it?” Babington replied cajolingly. Taking Crowe by the arm and grabbing a pitcher of iced water as he made his way from the tent, he brought them to a halt out of sight of the spectators and spilt the jug over Crowe’s head.

“What the blazes!” Exclaimed Crowe.

“Now, man, you need to sober up and put on your best smile. Do you really want Miss Downing to see you like this?” Babington replied sternly, “We still have all that business with Foster to sort out. How will we stop him from spreading vicious rumours if you are incapable of stringing a sentence together?”

Crowe stood stock still and regarded his friend, “Hell’s teeth. I’m making an ass of myself, aren’t I?”

Babington laughed, “We can’t expect a complete reformation in such a short time, now can we?”

**15**

That evening, after their sound thrashing at the cricket match, the party assembled at the Parker’s residence on Waterloo Road. It was a handsome property, constructed only a few years ago as part of the redevelopment of the Sanditon resort. It had the added benefit of being close to both Sidney’s brother Tom and his family but also Charlotte’s sister and her husband James, all of whom were present at the dinner.

Much merriment ensued, and Rose felt like she and her sisters had been welcomed into a large and boisterous family. They ate and laughed, but all the while, Rose was aware of Crowe’s gaze upon her.

After a while, the men departed the parlour to partake in their after-dinner drink, leaving the ladies to their tea tray. Rose could feel herself being observed and turned to watch as both Esther and Charlotte approached. They smiled and invited her to join them as they visited the nursery. Rose went with them willingly but was unsurprised when the conversation turned to her disagreement with her Crowe.

“Forgive me for being indelicate, and I know this is none of my business,” began Charlotte, “but you appear to be at odds with Crowe. Is there anything that we may do to help you?”

Esther agreed, “I have never seen such a change in a man as I have witnessed in him over these past weeks. What has happened Rose, to cause this rift between you?”

Rose considered her response. Charlotte was a new acquaintance, but from what she had seen of her, she had a caring heart that tempted one to confide. Esther had proven her friendship since the night of the ball, so she took a deep breath and told them all.

“Men!” exclaimed Charlotte, “They are buffoons at times. What possessed Crowe to believe that he could just pick the first lady to cross his path and propose to her?”

“To be fair, he never actually proposed. It was clearly his intention to do so, however,” replied Esther, “I’ve watched him, Charlotte. He was not dissembling. I genuinely believe that he has feelings for Rose. This business with the will is a diversion, I’m certain of it.”

“I wish I could believe that. He told Babington that if I refused him, he would turn his intentions towards my sisters. That’s hardly a testament to his partiality,” Rose replied morosely.

“True, but can you honestly say that he has shown any interest in them at all? I saw you dance - twice - at the ball. He practically shouted his inclination to the whole of society. Your sisters, while both lovely girls, would be completely wrong for Crowe and he knows it.” Esther persisted, “And what of that business with Lord Foster? Crowe was ready to call him out for the insult he made against your person. Impartial is the last word I would use to describe him.”

Rose considered that point for a moment. In her indignation, she had completely forgotten about the threat that her cousin still posed to her. Crowe had been angry, yet he had also been kind and comforting. If he was so indifferent, would he have been concerned enough to remove her and her sisters from London? Probably not.

Charlotte smiled gently, “You look happier already. I know nothing of the incident with Lord Foster but having had an unpleasant encounter with the gentleman myself a few years past, I can well imagine.”

Rose smiled at her new friends and did indeed feel a measure of peace. Despite what he said, Crowe’s actions spoke clearly of his regard for her. She would need to trust him to reconcile his thoughts with his behaviour. Trusting men did not come easily to her, but for Crowe, she would try.

Meanwhile, Crowe was lamenting his stupidity; his head felt like someone was dancing a reel inside his skull. His companions offered no sympathy. Indeed, they ribbed him mercifully and every so often reminded him that, had he not been so inebriated, they may have stolen that last wicket. ‘Oh, the shame!’ they lamented, for the gentlemen of Sanditon did not enjoy losing to their opponents as frequently as had become the custom.

James Stringer, the towns architect and Sidney’s brother-in-law, was sat discussing a new building scheme with Tom Parker, Sidney’s older brother and founder of the resort as they knew it. Sidney and Babington were in chairs opposite his own, drinking fine brandy while he nursed his cup of tea.

“When Babington said you had laid off the brandy, I thought it was a jest,” Sidney smirked. “I never thought I would see the day that you would be brought low by a woman; let alone a genteel, respectable lady!”

Crowe scowled at his companions, “Are you surprised it was a woman or that she is genteel?”

Sidney and Babington laughed. “Well, we certainly had you pegged for the petticoat line, but marriage? Who knew that was even an aspiration?” Sidney replied, standing to refill his glass.

“Well, in that we can agree,” Crowe finished his tea and placed his cup on the table beside him. “I suppose it took the right lady to open my eyes. But the way forward is still mired in fog. I cannot see how I can regain her trust. She has suffered at the hands of one man before and to think that I have added to her pain is a burden I must live with.”

“Don’t be so down-hearted Crowe. We all make mistakes. Dear God, as far as errors of judgement go, mine take some beating!” Sidney exclaimed, “To think that I almost married Eliza out of some misguided attempt to repay a debt.” He shuddered as he recollected his narrow escape.

Crowe smiled, “I don’t think Charlotte would have let you sacrifice yourself somehow. Your wife is a formidable lady.”

“Indeed, she is. One of the many reasons that I cannot live a day without her,” Sidney agreed. “So, that brings us back to your own lady. Babington has brought me up to date on the situation with Foster. After he attacked Charlotte at the ball in London five years ago, he has kept a wide berth of me. I should have dealt with him at the time.” Sidney frowned, “I had no idea he was Miss Downing’s cousin, nor did I realise the depths of his perfidy.”

Babington spoke then, “I have made some enquiries in town. I have a friend there who has the habit of ferreting out all kinds of unsavoury details. Foster is well known amongst the demimonde, and his vice is cruelty. A number of the gentlemen at White’s have cut him in society for his treatment of one particular opera singer. It is also rumoured that the man has several natural children of whom he does not support.”

“He was once a popular member of the fast set, although even Prinny fails to acknowledge the association these days. He is as dissipated as any amongst society,” Sidney agreed. “Charlotte is particular friends with Lady Worcester, you will remember her of course, and she keeps my wife appraised of the goings-on in town.”

“So, we know the man’s character, and we know his proclivities,” Crowe considered each of his friends, “How then do we find the leverage we need to see him gone from Rose’s life for good?”

**16**

A short while later, the men rejoined the ladies in the parlour. Crowe looked around and spotted Rose sitting beside her sister, Louisa, at the pianoforte. Louisa was flicking through sheet music and once selected, began to play. Rose began to sing a lilting ballad about a young girl and her lost love.

_The day he left me on the shore,_

_I knew my love; I’d see no more._

_As far away his ship did sail,_

_My love has gone; his ship did sail._

_My heart doth grieve for hardship find_

_And each day my love doth remind_

_As far away his ship did sail_

_My love has gone; his ship did sail._

Mesmerised, her sweet voice wrapping around him like a caress, he stood motionless until the very last note. Amidst applause, Rose looked up and smiled. At him. His breath caught before returning her smile with all the joy and relief he felt at that moment. Rose lowered her gaze and stood, leaving Louisa to play once more.

As she skirted the room, she was aware that Crowe was watching her every move. With every step towards him, she could feel her nerve weakening. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, she cast her eyes towards Charlotte and Esther, who both nodded in silent encouragement. Before she could take another step, he was there in front of her.

“Miss Downing,” he began, sounding unsure, “I just wanted to say … that is … you sang beautifully.”

“It’s Rose. Just Rose,” she replied blushing. “Thank you. Louisa is the true performer, but sometimes she likes me to accompany her.”

“Rose,” he whispered and then cleared his throat, as if nervous. “Rose,” he repeated, more clearly. “Would you care to take a turn around the garden? The night is warm, and a little air may be pleasant.”

She smiled, charmed by his uncertainty, “Thank you, I would enjoy some air.” As she went to retrieve her wrap, she caught Charlotte grinning at her from the other side of the room, “go” she mouthed. Rose rolled her eyes and returned her grin.

The air was cooler in the garden, but the change was welcome. They walked for a few minutes in silence; the air thick with emotion and as yet unspoken words. The moon was full, and stars twinkled like diamonds in the clear night sky. Abruptly Crowe stopped and stared up at the stars, moonlight bathing him in its pearlescent light.

“The stars seem much brighter here.” He spoke quietly. “It’s as if they have all congregated in this stretch of sky to light our path and show us the way.”

“Where does your path lead Crowe?” Rose replied gently.

He shifted his gaze to meet hers. “That rather depends.”

“On what?”

“As I see it, you and I have been travelling alone for some time. Our paths have meandered, sometimes the road ahead is clearly marked, and at others, we’ve become lost, but we’ve reached a crossroads at the same moment, and now we must choose. Continue on alone or walk on and find our path together.” Crowe studied her face intently, afraid to move for fear of missing her reaction.

Rose closed her eyes for a moment, so intense was his regard. He spoke in metaphors, but the meaning was clear. Dare she trust him? She had promised herself she would try. Opening her eyes once more, she took a step closer, “I find I have no wish to journey alone.”

He reached for her, but she stepped away once more, “I need to understand, Crowe. I overheard your conversation with Babington last night. What I heard you say then and what you ask of me now are quite different.”

Crowe sighed, “Rose, those words were never meant for your ears. Not because I hoped to deceive you, but rather, because they were simply untrue.”

He saw the hesitation in her face, but he realised that hope had not yet been extinguished. Clinging to that hope, he continued.

“I need to go back further if you are to understand. Babington has known me my whole life. Since my days in short pants. He has some knowledge of my childhood, though not all. My life was moulded from an early age by a deep resentment. My father was killed by his own brother over some nonsensical wager. My mother suffered greatly in her marriage and did not mourn my father’s passing. She loved me, but still, she reminded me daily of the futility of trying to change who I am. I was a Crowe and therefore, a wastrel. I swore never to inflict upon a woman, the kind of hurt my mother had endured. Babington and Sidney have known me to denounce matrimony since our very first encounter; I scoffed at their willingness to succumb to love, and again at their happiness once married. All the time being envious of their devotion and the life and love they had embraced.

“When I learned of the codicil that formed part of my uncle’s will, I was aghast. He was going to force my hand. If I did not marry where he had preordained, the wealth that comes with the title would be forfeit. It would leave me with little funds to support the earldom and virtually nothing to sustain the tenants and staff who depend upon it for their livelihood. It seemed simple enough. Travel to Wentworth and choose one of the three sisters he had selected as my bride. I would make her a countess and then return to the carefree life I had always led.

“Then, I met you. You sparked an awareness in me that I had never known, and my need to protect the earldom was replaced almost immediately with a need to protect you. It has only ever been you.” Crowe exhaled a shuddering breath and dared to look at the woman who had the power to destroy him.

Rose stepped closer once more and lifted her hand to smooth the frown from Crowe’s brow.

He covered her hand with his own and brought it to his lips, “You need say nothing now. Take some time to consider all I have said. Just know that when you are ready, I am yours.”

Rose stepped forward, this time close enough for their bodies to touch, and reached up. Sliding her hand around his neck, she pulled gently until his mouth was but a breath away from her own. Needing no further encouragement, his arms came around her, and his lips closed the distance between them. He kissed her softly, bringing forth every ounce of tenderness he possessed.

“Rose,” he whispered against her mouth, before allowing his emotions free rein.

Rose was lost. Her heart was beating a tattoo in her chest as the kiss swept her away in a tide of emotions so new and exhilarating, she thought she may expire in his arms.

Crowe gentled the kiss, until they simply held each other, entwined in an embrace. His breathing haggard, he brought his forehead to rest upon hers.

“Darling Rose, you will be the death of me,” he chuckled. “Promise me you will consider what I have said.”

Rose laughed in return, “Believe me, Crowe, I shall think of nothing else.”

**17**

The following afternoon, Crowe was in the best of moods. He laughed readily and smiled easily, and it was all because of Rose. Sidney and Babington tried to get a rise from him, but their teasing remarks provoked nothing more than a grin.

“Dear God, man. Did I wear that silly expression when I was courting Esther?” Babington laughed, “I have never seen such cow-eyes on a grown man.”

“Have you nothing better to do Babington, than remark upon my eyes?” Crowe grinned.

“Now, now, children. Let us all be thankful that three such lovely ladies have seen past our many, many faults and deemed us worthy,” Sidney admonished, amused. “For the moment, our efforts should be diverted to the Regatta. There is much to do.”

The Sanditon Regatta started several years ago, as an opportunity to promote and generate much-needed interest in the newly developing seaside resort. There were events for all to participate in, from the very young to the very old, working class to the elite of society, there was something for all.

“I have been thinking,” Babington lowered his voice, “I’ve had a further letter from Hargreaves. You know the one – he wrote to me about Foster and the scandal surrounding him. I’ve agreed to part with a fine piece of horseflesh at a scandalously low price, for his continued assistance.”

Crowe sat up straight, “Your point, Babbers?”

“Well, it seems that he has discovered that Foster had formed a new acquaintance,” Babington continued. “Do you remember that scandalous Miss that had a fling with Denham years ago? A poor relation of Lady D’s. Clara Brereton, her name was. Esther hated the girl.”

“What the devil has this to do with the Regatta?” queried Sidney in confusion.

“Wait, I’m getting to that,” Babington replied with a smirk.

“Right, well, as I was saying, she has taken up with Foster, and the two are much seen together amongst the less reputable entertainments. If you understand my meaning?”

At the blank look on his friend's faces, he pushed on.

“It seems Clara had fallen on hard times and joined the ranks of the demireps. A beautiful girl, if I recall correctly. She has found her fortunes have turned and is now a highly sought-after courtesan. Foster has been parading her around as his prize possession, but the girl has wiles. She knows that he’s a bad apple and is bleeding the man dry. Associates of Foster have been grumbling that the fellow is being blackmailed.” Babington paused, “By Clara.”

“I’m not following, Babington. Sorry,” Crowe sighed in exasperation. “What has this got to do with anything?”

“Ah, now you see, Foster is running out of blunt. Clara is seeking a fortune and has damning information on the scoundrel. She is our key to unearthing the leverage we need to be rid of the man for good,” Babington sat back in the chair and waited.

“And the regatta?” Sidney repeated.

“Ah, well, I thought we would issue the invitation for them to attend. It’s either that or we wait until we are back in town, but by then Foster will be on the hunt to replenish his coffers. What better way to do so than by extorting the funds from the future Countess of Frogmore?” His serious tone belied his earlier humour.

“I’d kill him first.” Replied, Crowe menacingly.

“My point exactly. We have a limited time to act, and if we make our move during the regatta, then we have the benefit of choosing the time and place of the confrontation,” Babington added.

Sidney was quiet for a moment, “I can see sense in what you suggest, however, firstly, what makes you think they will attend and secondly, why do you believe Clara will be amenable to helping us?”

“If the invitation is extended to Clara, she will ensure they attend,” Babington frowned. “You see, Clara’s fall from grace was not of her own doing. She found herself with child after her ill-judged liaison with Sir Edward. Her parents threw her to the wolves. It seems her greatest regret was deceiving Lady Denham, but all pleas from her to reconcile have been soundly ignored.”

“Unsurprisingly. Lady D is not one to suffer fools or scoundrels,” Sidney pointed out.

“Indeed. But Clara hopes to provide a life for her child, Sir Edwards bastard, and believes that his family should honour his obligation,” Babington added. “Esther has no love for the woman, but since becoming a mother herself, has some compassion for her niece. If we could offer her a better life for her child, would she not grasp at the chance?”

Crowe considered Babington carefully. Here was a man that would do anything for his friends and his family. If an injustice occurred, he would be sure to fight for the underdog. He felt confident that the last thing Babington would desire would be to raise another man’s natural child, but for the love of his wife, he would do so gladly. Gads. All of this to protect Crowe’s own future bride. He felt humbled to have such friends.

**18**

Rose, the day following her encounter with Crowe in the garden of Waterloo Road, was amazed to find herself lighter and more carefree than she had ever been before. Her sisters noticed the change in her and thoroughly approved.

Walking arm in arm along the beach one morning, Rose confided, “I was determined to dislike him, you know. He was supposed to stay but a short time and leave us to get on with our lives as we always had.”

Louisa laughed, “Things didn’t happen quite like that, did they?”

“No. He refused to follow the rule book of rogues and scoundrels and confounded me almost from the start,” Rose smiled.

“I still think locking the spirits away was an inspired move, Rose,” giggled Maria.

“What does it feel like?” Louisa asked wistfully, “To fall in love?”

A denial sprang to Rose’s lips before she caught herself. The time for dissembling was long gone, “It feels like the giddy feeling you get when you spin around too fast, and you can do nought but laugh all the while praying you do not fall.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound altogether pleasant,” retorted Maria.

“No, indeed, pleasant does not begin to describe it,” Rose tried again. “It’s all-consuming. Your first thought each day and your last … and every moment in between … is of him. You know to your very bones that your happiness depends on his.”

“La! I do not need a man to make me happy. I should not enjoy being dependent upon someone so entirely, although becoming a countess is not without its appeal,” Maria shrugged. “I’m pleased for you, Rose. When shall you accept him?”

“When the time is right, I suppose. For now, we are courting; spending time together and finding our way. We still have obstacles to overcome, and decisions to be made,” Rose replied pragmatically.

“When I fall in love, I should like it to be with a man of music. One who understands emotions and one who will be swept away with passion,” Louisa proclaimed dreamily.

Maria rolled her eyes, “Good gracious, does such a man exist outside of your imagination, Louisa? For me, I do not need a man at all, though I should like to be soundly kissed at least once.”

“Maria! What a thing to say,” Rose replied, laughing. “Just you wait, one day a man will appear who will sweep you off of your feet and before you know it you shall be glad that you saved your kisses for only him.”

As they made their way back to the hotel, they came across Charlotte; face contorted in pain. Rose rushed forward to assist her, calling for her sisters to run to fetch Mr Parker from the inn where he, Crowe and Babington had planned to meet.

“Charlotte. How can I assist you?” she pleaded in alarm.

“Oh, stuff and nonsense Rose,” Charlotte spoke unsteadily between panting breaths. “It would appear this child is ready to join us, is all.”

Rose alarmed but relieved that something ghastly had not occurred, helped Charlotte take a few steps before the onslaught of pain caught her again. They slowly made their way along the street until they had reached Charlotte’s home.

“Sidney will be here momentarily,” Rose assured her.

Charlotte let out a breathless chuckle, “My husband is the best of men, and I love him more than life itself, but he’s of no use to me now. He shall panic and fret, and I shall need smelling salts to revive the poor dear if he were to witness the events that must come.”

Rose giggled, “I will stay and help you get settled.”

Charlotte grimaced as pain gripped her once more, “Upstairs. Please. Send a maid to fetch Mary.”

The gentlemen were still discussing their plans when a disturbance sounded in the entrance of the inn. Crowe recognised the high-pitched hysteria of women in distress. The barkeep, having gone to investigate, returned moments later with Louisa and Maria. Rose was nowhere in sight. He stood alarmed but noted they had fixed their interest upon Sidney.

“Mrs Parker! She’s in trouble,” wailed Maria.

Louisa, gently swatting her sister, explained a little more calmly, “Mr Parker, your wife is in distress. The baby is coming. Rose is with her, but she bade me inform you straight away.”

Sidney shot up from his seat, knocking over his drink, in his panic. Without acknowledging the messenger or farewelling his friends, he rushed from the room.

Babington and Crowe shared a look and then finished their drinks. Crowe grimaced as he swallowed the last of his cold tea, “Shall we go and keep the man from tearing the walls down, Babbers?”

Babington nodded, “I must send a note to Esther, she will want to be of use.”

Rose helped to undress Charlotte and saw her into bed. An almighty commotion broke out as Sidney stormed through the house in a panic.

“Rose. I am relying on you to keep my love from breaking down the door. I shall see him for a moment; then he must leave me to it,” Charlotte pleaded. “He cannot stand to see me suffering, and I do not wish him to hear me curse him as I bring this child into the world,” she added with a grin that quickly turned to an expression of pain.

The door opened, and a worried and ashen-faced Sidney stormed into the room.

“Charlotte?” He winced as he saw his wife in the throes of a vicious contraction.

“Mr Parker, Sidney. Your wife will allow you to stay for a few minutes and then you must leave us. Mary is on her way,” Rose explained softly.

Sidney nodded and made his way to his wife’s side.

Rose smiled at the couple. They really were perfect, “I shall check that everything is being readied,” she murmured as she left them alone.

After making sure that everything was in hand, Rose was about to return to Charlotte when the front door opened, and Mary Parker rushed in, “Ah, excellent, Rose. Is everything prepared?”

“Yes, all is in order. The warm water and towels are being taken upstairs now. Sidney is with Charlotte,” she replied quickly.

“Excellent. Did you say Sidney is with her? Oh, lord. I’d better make haste!” Mary hurried up the stairs.

Crowe and Babington arrived a few minutes later and began their vigil in Sidney’s study. They were soon joined by Sidney’s brother Tom, and brother in law, James. Amidst much pacing and assurances that all would be well, Crowe regarded his friend with bemusement. Love could do strange things to a man; turn him from a fierce protector to a quivering wreck with a blink of the eye, and when the door finally burst open several hours later, love had the power to reduce grown men to happy, joyful tears.

Rose was overcome with relief and awe at the sight of the newborn child. Although not present at the birth; Mary, Alison and Esther, who both had arrived in a flurry of comfort and good humour, had insisted she stay for the most part.

It had been Rose who had been given the joyful task of advising the anxious and proud father that mother and son were well. Seeing Sidney’s eyes glisten with emotion, brought tears to her own.

Crowe had been there. She hadn’t realised he had stayed throughout, and as Sidney had raced from the room, Crowe had pulled her into a tight hug that she hadn’t realised she needed until that moment.

A glass was raised to celebrate the safe arrival of baby Freddy Parker, named for his soon-to-be godfather Crowe, and all seemed well with the world.

**19**

A week or so had passed since the excitement of the birth of baby Freddy. Mother and child were doing well, and Charlotte was adamant she would be up and about in time for the regatta, the following week. Sidney was delirious in his adoration for his wife and growing family. A man had never smiled as widely, and as often, she was sure.

Sanditon, Rose thought, was a place like no other. An eclectic mix of personalities were drawn to the resort. Well-heeled aristocrats thought nothing of mingling with gentry and trade folk alike. Sea bathing was a popular occupation, as was the newly built municipal baths. The sea views were astonishing to a girl used to rolling fields and hedgerows. Miles and miles of coastline and ocean so vast that one could imagine the world ended on the horizon.

As she stood and looked out to sea, Crowe came up beside her.

“Vast, isn’t it?” he said. His voice had an edge to it that suggested something was troubling him.

“Crowe? Is something amiss?” she probed gently.

“Not exactly,” he replied cryptically. Crowe paused for a moment before taking her hand and turning her to face him.

“I have some news that you may not be entirely comfortable with,” he cautioned.

“Go on,” Rose replied warily.

“I bring news of your cousin,” he watched her carefully, and seemingly satisfied that she was not unduly distressed, pressed on. “An invitation was extended to him and a ‘friend’, to attend the Sanditon Regatta. They have accepted.”

Rose stared at him with disbelief.

“Why? What possible reason could there be to bring him here amongst us?” she asked frantically.

“Rose, listen to me. It needed to be done. Sidney, Babbers and I have a plan,” Crowe assured her. After relaying the outline of their scheme, Crowe added, “Clara has agreed to speak with us, and our hopes are dependent on her compliance. If she will relinquish the information that she has been using against him, we will have the means to prevent him from troubling you ever again.”

Rose regarded him astutely. Reluctantly, she could see the logic in their plan, but still, she could not like it, “If this does not work, what is to stop him damaging my reputation and your own by association. He will think nothing of flaying me in public.”

Crowe nodded his understanding. He understood her reservations and her desire to keep as much distance as possible between herself and Foster. He could think of no other way to protect her except one. He had promised not to rush her decision, but if all else failed and their scheme did not have the desired result, he would be forced to do something drastic, after all, Gretna Green was still an option, however scandalous.

Rose was unaware of the direction that Crowe’s thoughts had taken, as her mind was full of dread at the prospect of seeing Richard again. What if he learnt of her attachment to Crowe? Would Foster drag her name through the mud and Crowe’s along with it? He had only just ascended to the title. Would he be able to withstand the scandal? All she could do was hope that his scheme was successful, or her only option would be to walk away.

“Rose, listen to me. I won’t allow the scoundrel within one hundred feet of you. He will never have the opportunity to hurt you again,” Crowe pulled her into an embrace, and Rose felt comfort and trepidation in equal measures.

**20**

The following week, tensions were running high. Rose was torn between embracing the love she was certain she felt for Crowe, and nausea at the number of things that could go awry. In a moment of such weakness, she finally confided in her sisters and explained to them events that had occurred five years ago in London. Neither Louisa nor Maria had been introduced to Lord Foster during their come-out ball, and both were astonished to learn of the connection. They were overcome with anger at his treatment of their beloved sister and finally understood what had driven her back to Wentworth under such a cloud.

“One thing I am certain of is the need to avoid any scandal befalling Crowe. His connection to us is widely known after our foray into society, and any disgrace that affects me will reflect poorly on him,” she explained sadly.

“I think you do him a disservice, Rose,” Louisa stood and wrapped her arms around her sister. “You must learn to trust him. He looks at you as if you have hung the moon and the stars. That is not a man that will let you go willingly, scandal or no.”

“And think Rose, if he does not marry you, what will happen to Wentworth? He would have to marry either Louisa or me to hold onto the inheritance, and I’m certainly not going to fall upon my sword for you, Rose.” Maria interjected teasingly, “What of you, Louisa? Would you marry Crowe to save our sister from the blight of scandal?”

Rose recoiled at the idea even as Louisa laughed, and replied, “No, I certainly shall not – the man can’t carry a tune to save his life. But fear not, it won’t come to that.”

Meanwhile, a carriage arrived at the entrance to The Crown Hotel. An elegantly clad lady was helped from the coach by an auburn-haired gentleman of middling height; dissipation clouded his once handsome features. As the lady smoothed the creases from her travelling ensemble, she looked around her and noted the signs of progress. Yet still, she searched for sights that had once been as familiar to her as her own name.

They entered the hotel and were quickly ensconced within the privacy of their quaintly appointed rooms. Declaring himself in need of rest and recuperation following their tiresome journey, her companion took himself off to his bedchamber.

Clara, wasting no time, exited her room and made her way down the staircase to the front desk. There she left a message for a fellow guest to join her, if it was convenient, for a stroll along the seafront. Leaving her note in the hands of one of the young porters, she exited the building and began the familiar walk through the narrow and winding roads that led to the strip of golden sand. The tide was out, and as she walked amongst the dunes, thoughts plagued her of another time. She was surprised to find that her eyes had filled with moisture as she fished out a handkerchief from her reticule. Bah! She thought; nostalgic fool. She had made her bed and had suffered the consequences. At least she had Violet. At five and a half years old, her daughter was showing signs of being as obstinate and headstrong as her namesake; her aunt, the indomitable Lady Denham. She could have named her daughter after her errant father, but well, who calls a child Edwina!

Ah, Edward Denham! They had conspired together in an attempt to better their lot. In the end, it had been for nothing and her aunt’s will, which they had destroyed, was never actualised. By some twist of fate, Lady Denham had returned from the brink of eternal rest, to preside over her earthly domain once more. The rub of it had been their discovery. Both disowned for their deceit, not to mention, despoiling her ladyships drawing room floor. Edward had never realised, in all their games and machinations, that she had never been his enemy. Quite the opposite. In him, she had seen a kindred spirit; two people desperate to improve their lot. That she had inconveniently fallen in love with the scoundrel was known only to her. His unnaturally close relationship with his stepsister Esther had been an obstacle she could not overcome. Edward had made it plain that he desired her - they had dallied enough to be sure of that, but he had walked away with barely a backward glance. Alas, she was left with a babe in her belly and the rest, they say, was history.

A noise behind her brought her reverie to an end. Pasting on her most winning smile, she turned and regarded the two men approaching with interest.

“Lord Babington, our mutual acquaintance, sends his regards and will be arriving tomorrow. And Mr Crowe, always a pleasure,” Clara spoke using the sultry tone she had perfected since her fall from grace.

“Miss Brereton. I trust your journey was not too tiring,” Babington replied, always the height of politesse, she thought wryly. Mr Crowe, by comparison, remained silent. She remembered him. He had always been such a merry sort; danced divinely as she recalled. All remnants of good humour had seemingly deserted the man; his face was set in a mask of disinterest which bordered on incivility.

“Shall we walk, gentlemen?” she offered, turning.

“Miss Brereton, you know why we have asked you here. We need to know if you are prepared to meet the terms of our offer?” Lord Babington asked, without flummery.

“Straight to business then?” she retorted, “Very well, as you wish.”

Clara took a deep breath. The offer she had received from Lord Babington, fully sanctioned by his wife Esther, had come as a shock. For years she had tried to reach out to her child’s relatives, but her pleas for help had been ignored.

“I need to know what has prompted your offer, Lord Babington? You must know that my daughter’s future is not something I am willing to gamble.”

“I never imagined you would, Miss Brereton. My wife and I have three children of our own, and there is not one single thing that we would not do to make their lives better. I assume such feelings equal those you speak of?” Lord Babington spoke earnestly.

This was not a man who lied and cheated. He was honest and open and could be trusted, she felt sure, “And what of your Viscountess? I am the very last person on earth she should wish to help.”

“My wife, whilst justified in her disdain for you madam, feels no such ill-feeling for your daughter, her niece. She has very little of her own family left, save for Lady Denham. Her brother left these shores many years ago and is lost to her. I have been discharged by her to make you this offer and to assure you that your child will be loved and treated as one of our own. A secure future, free of disgrace is our offer.”

Clara nodded her understanding, “Will I be permitted to see my child?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. “Will I be permitted to write to her?”

Lord Babington’s expression softened, “You are not selling your child, Miss Brereton, but placing her in a home where she will be well cared for. Esther would never wish to replace you as her mother. We can agree to visits, and you may write freely. Be assured of that.”

What more could she ask? The life of a demirep was wholly unsuitable for a child, let alone a daughter both inquisitive and fair. Respectability was no longer an option for a woman such as she, but she could gift her child with such a chance. Pain lanced her chest at the thought of what must come, but that was for another day. There was business still to be concluded.

“Then I agree to your terms, My Lord.”

**21**

Crowe stared at Babington in disbelief. Clara had just departed to make her way back to the hotel.

“I am in need of a drink, Babbers. I shall forgo my gunpowder on this occasion.”

“Agreed. We shall need to discuss this privately. Sidney will want to hear what we have uncovered,” Babington spoke quietly.

As they made their way to their friend’s abode, both men kept their own counsel. A short time later, they were situated once more in the comfort of Sidney’s study.

“Charlotte, is she well? And the babe?” asked Babington, as Sidney handed them each a glass of brandy.

Sidney grinned, “Both are doing extremely well. Harry and Susan are beside themselves with the thought of a little brother. They’ve asked for a sister next time.” Sidney laughed.

“You will soon need to move to a bigger house, man. In a few years, you will have offspring enough to field your own cricket team,” Crowe grinned.

“Ah, you just wait, Crowe. Your time will come,” responded Sidney cheerfully.

Crowe smiled to himself. There had been a time, not very long ago, that the thought of siring children would have sent him running for the hills. Now, the thought filled him with eagerness unbecoming a former rogue like himself. Lord willing, he and Rose would be given the chance to realise his imaginings. He was growing impatient; he should have made his offer weeks ago and persisted until she agreed. Babington called his name, bringing him back from his musings.

“Crowe and I met with Miss Brereton this afternoon,” Babington began. “It was an illuminating experience, to say the least. What she had to tell us was damning indeed.”

“Clara has indeed been blackmailing Foster. She told us that shortly after she had accepted Foster’s offer of protection, she was contacted by a maid in the service of the Viscount. Clara said that the maid had been distressed and bade her to secrecy. It turns out that the woman was with child, having been forced upon by Foster himself.”

Sidney regarded his friends sceptically, “It’s distasteful, but surely a regular enough occurrence that blackmail would be ineffectual?”

“Just wait,” interjected Crowe, taking a large swallow of his brandy.

“This maid had not informed her master that she is in the family way and is scared witless. Clara is in the process of finding a place for her, and the money she is extorting is being kept in safekeeping to support both mother and child.” Babington took a deep breath.

“Commendable. So, we have learned there is an honour to her villainous tendencies,” Sidney remarked wryly.

“Wait,” Crowe interrupted once more.

“The maid was adamant that Clara break her arrangement with Foster, and when pressed, she explained that there have been two previous women that he had gotten with child. One a kitchen maid and the other an opera singer, remember I spoke of her before?” Babington scowled, “The Opera singer was beaten so severely that her child was lost in the womb and she was scarred for life.

“The kitchen maid, however, was found strangled in an alley not half a mile from the residence the very morning after she informed Foster of her condition. Bow Street weren’t interested; indeed, there was very little fuss about what appeared to be an attack by a vicious cutthroat. Clara wishes to see the back of the predator every bit as much as we do.”

Sidney stared blankly at his companions. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke, “To think that man dared to lay a finger on my wife, not to mention almost force himself upon Miss Downing. I feel sick. How I wish I’d have put an end to him that night.”

Crowe spoke quietly, “The question is gentlemen, what do we do with this information?” He looked up at his friends, then continued, “We intended to silence a bully and a menace. The situation we now face is far worse than we ever imagined.”

“He’s right, Sidney. This bears some thought. Hargreaves arrives in Sanditon tomorrow ahead of the Regatta. I would like to seek his counsel.” Babington looked at Crowe, “What say you? This situation was set in motion to protect Rose. Are you content to leave any decisions until the morrow?”

Crowe nodded, “I am at a loss how to proceed. A night to reflect may help us reach a decision, and if Hargreaves is as connected as you suggest, then I am willing to wait.”

**22**

The day of the regatta dawned warm and bright. Rose woke early and readied herself. Restless, she decided to take a walk along the beach. The early morning sunshine reflected off of the water like a mirror, calm and untroubled. Her thoughts, by comparison, skipped and danced from one worry to the next. Today she would decide her fate if fate did not choose for her.

In the distance, she noticed a solitary figure lost in thought; staring out across the ocean. Crowe. He turned and began to walk slowly away from the water’s edge, and as he ambled towards her, Crowe lifted a hand in greeting.

Smiling, she walked forward until they had each covered half of the distance between them. “Good morning, you are about early.”

“You are a welcome sight, Rose. I find I enjoy mornings these days, and no one is more surprised than I at the discovery.” Smiling, he added, “Are you well?”

He studied her carefully and noted the tension that marred her brow. ”Have you much on your mind this morning?”

As he took hold of her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, they continued to walk along, without direction nor destination.

“I keep thinking of all the possible outcomes that may befall us this day. The chances of things going entirely to plan are somewhat slim, don’t you think?” Rose looked at Crowe, searching for some sign to suggest that he was confident in their plan.

Crowe sighed, “I will own that things have grown a deal more complicated.” He took a deep breath before proceeding to tell her all that they had discovered.

“How truly shocking,” Rose exclaimed in disbelief and outrage. “Those poor women! Something must be done, surely? My situation is nothing compared to the suffering they have endured.”

“The three of us reached the same conclusion. Babington has an acquaintance, Hargreaves, who is joining us today,” Crowe advised. “He is a man with interesting connections, so I hear. We hope that he may have some thoughts on how we proceed.”

They walked along in companionable silence for a short distance, each lost to their own thoughts. Crowe could feel the tension running through Rose. It was a lot to take in, he knew that, but as they walked, he feared that her resolve to see this through was wavering.

He stopped, “Rose? We will get through this; you know that don’t you? There is nothing; not a single consequence, that could possibly divert us from the path we are travelling.”

He reached up to tuck a wild strand of her golden hair that had been captured by the sea breeze, behind her delicate ear and met her sky-blue eyes. What he saw there took his breath away; her belief and trust in him. He hoped he was worthy of her faith. However, there was also a shadow that proclaimed her concern. By the end of today, he hoped he could banish that shadow for good.

The morning moved on at pace. After Crowe had left her at the hotel, Rose broke her fast. She swapped her plain cotton dress for a pretty sprigged muslin in a cheerful sunshine yellow. She needed every defence in her armoury today, even if the best she could muster was a splash of colour.

After leaving Rose at the hotel, Crowe made his way through the streets to Waterloo Road. He and Babington had agreed that their affairs should be conducted in the privacy of their friend’s residence. The last thing that they needed at this juncture was their adversary to suspect that they were conspiring against him.

As he crossed the threshold, he heard voices. Babington’s was easily discernible, but another spoke that was unfamiliar. Stood next to the fireplace, was a dark-haired gentleman. Dressed sombrely, he held himself in the manner of a military man. His countenance gave nothing away; both guarded and yet alert. The eagerly awaited Hargreaves, he presumed.

“Sidney, Babington, won’t you introduce me to our new friend?” Crowe drawled as he entered the room. Babington and Sidney were sat in comfortable chairs displaying every semblance of ease. They stood as he entered and performed the introductions.

The Marquess of Berwick, who preferred to be known as simply Hargreaves, Babington explained, was an old family friend. The man spoke with a burr; a Scot with a borderland title, Crowe surmised.

Jack Hargreaves regarded his companions with interest. Babington, of course, he had known since his days in the nursery. The connection had remained strong through childhood but as they had each taken different paths, he to Edinburgh before joining the guards, whereas Babington had been educated at Cambridge, before ascending his title at an early age. He himself had been the second son and had never anticipated inheriting. His brother had succumbed to a fast and unforgiving illness that saw him dead before his thirtieth year, closely followed by their ailing father, leaving Jack to assume the title. Now at three and thirty, and after a long and illustrious career in the military, he had been recalled to civilian life to take care of the interests of the Marquessate.

Shifting his attention, he considered the other two men. Late-comer Crowe seemed a puzzle; his flamboyant air contradicted what he suspected was a sharp intelligence. And then there was Parker. The very image of a family man. Jack knew, of course, of the man’s more colourful past, but from this meeting could see that the rough edges that had once been the man’s stock and trade, had been smoothed and softened by domesticity.

“I have been catching up on the news of our quarry,” he studied Crowe. “It seems Miss Brereton is playing a dangerous game; would you not say?”

Crowe concurred, “I know very little of her, in truth. If what she has told us is true, then I agree, her every move could pose a danger to her.”

Crowe walked to the desk, where a tray had been placed, and poured himself a cup of the hot beverage. “Coffee, Sidney? You picked up some heathen habits whilst away from these shores. Englishmen drink tea, man, tea!”

Sidney laughed and explained to Hargreaves, “Our friend here has sworn off the bottle except for special occasions and has found he has developed a love of tea.”

“Ah, women! They are a devious breed. Only a woman could turn a man away from his pleasure. But remember, they are equally skilled at pushing a fellow off the wagon. I hope the lady in question is worth your sacrifice,” Hargreaves smiled cynically.

Crowe raised an eyebrow and ignored the remark. “We were discussing Clara,” He replied dryly.

Hargreaves laughed. “You southerners are a wee bit soft when it comes to the lasses.” He exaggerated his burr, to much amusement.

“Now. Back to the matter at hand,” Hargreaves’ change in timbre and switch of personas from jovial lord to brisk military commander was, in Crowe’s opinion, slightly unnerving.

“Foster is known to inflict pain on women. That has been an open secret within the clubs and hells for years. We were aware of his begets, to some extent, and of his dalliance with the Italian opera singer.” Hargreaves paced the room, every now and then directing a comment to one of the men for consideration. “What we had not done is put those facts together. The kitchen maid that mysteriously died is damning indeed, and although the evidence points to Foster, the fact is it is circumstantial. The authorities won’t be interested in pursuing a peer of the realm.”

“So, where does that leave us?” Sidney enquired. “Allows little room for justice, does it?”

Hargreaves scrutinised his companions, “Is our primary aim to see him held accountable for his misdeeds?” he paused, “Or, to ensure that he is removed, if not permanently, then at least by a far enough distance that he no longer poses a threat? I cannae help but feel you are confusing your priorities here.”

Babington nodded, “You’re right, Jack. Our goal must surely be to prevent him from harming any more females and protecting those he had already injured.” He looked across at Crowe. “What say you, old friend?”

Crowe took another sip of his coffee, grimacing, and then answered carefully, “Rose is my primary concern. If I am ever to succeed in making her my countess, she must be free of the threat he poses.”

To Hargreaves, he dipped his head, “I will bow to your superior stratagems.”

“Well then, Parker? I know some of your past. Have you still contacts in the West Indies?” Hargreaves waited for Sidney’s response.

“I have been out of that business for years, Hargreaves, but I do still know of one or two who have continued to dabble.” He added, “not the kind of men you would want to cross, mind.”

Hargreaves, smiled ominously, “Precisely the kind of men we need. Can they be bought?”

Sidney nodded slowly, “They would kidnap your own grandmother for gold.”

Crowe shared a look with Babington. There was an undercurrent to this conversation that they were oblivious to. Crowe shrugged. If it helped their cause, he would not complain.

“Good, good,” Hargreaves regarded each of the men intently, “Here is my plan ....”

**23**

Rose and her sisters made their way down to the shoreline just after lunch as the day’s events began. They had been there but a few minutes when they were hailed by a familiar voice.

“Rose! Louisa! Maria!”

“Charlotte! You made it. How good it is to see you. And baby Freddy? Is he well?” Rose smiled warmly.

“My darling child is perfect, thank you, Rose. He is beginning to put on weight and feeds almost incessantly, but he is the picture of his father, so is very much adored by all,” Charlotte beamed. “Come,” she beckoned the sisters to follow. “We have put together quite a party. The older children are all playing in the sand. The grand sandcastle competition takes place shortly.”

As they wove their way through the other guests, they came upon a series of blankets spread out amongst the dunes. Esther and Babington were sat conversing with a gentleman she did not know. Sidney was there, as was Crowe. Charlotte’s sister and her husband Mr Stringer were talking animatedly to a gentleman; a jolly sort, who was later introduced as Mr Arthur Parker, Sidney’s brother. Mr Parker’s sister, Miss Diana, was handing out delicacies from a wicker hamper, to the assembled party. Once again, Rose felt the overwhelming sense of belonging. Crowe rounded the blankets with a grin, to offer her his arm. Louisa and Maria followed behind.

“Rose, my love, I would like to introduce you to a new acquaintance.”

Crowe stopped beside Babington and Esther, “Hargreaves, may I make known to you Miss Rosemary Downing and her sisters Louisa and Maria. Rose, girls, this is the Marquess of Berwick, known to his friends as Hargreaves.”

The gentleman stood, then offered a perfunctory greeting. His countenance was severe, but his voice rumbled with good humour.

Louisa, who had been absently regarding the activities along the beach, turned at the sound of a melodious tenor as it caused goosebumps to form on her otherwise, sun-warmed skin. Embarrassed to have missed the introductions, she offered her apologies. The gentleman to whom the voice belonged, met and held her gaze for a long, awkward moment and for the second time in as many minutes, she blushed. With a quirk of his mouth, he sent her one last glance, before returning his attention to Crowe.

Maria narrowed her eyes at her sister and under her breath, hissed, “What the devil was that about?”

Pretending ignorance, Louisa whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Before taking a seat on the picnic blanket beside Rose.

Crowe and Hargreaves wandered off to obtain drinks for Rose and her sisters. Hargreaves regarded his companion, “Rose is the one, is she not?”

Crowe smiled like a besotted fool, “Is she not perfect?” He cleared his throat. Uncomfortable speaking so fondly of a lady, while in the company of a recent acquaintance. In a quieter voice, only audible to Hargreaves, he added, “Foster is her cousin. He tried to force himself upon her when she was younger. She came upon him again a couple of weeks ago, and it seems he is fully intent to either ruin her name or her person. She is the very reason we began our enquiries.”

Hargreaves nodded, “And her sisters, are they in any danger?”

Crowe shook his head, “Neither had the misfortune of making his acquaintance, thank the saints. Ensuring Rose stays safe will be a difficult enough endeavour, never mind the other two.” He winced at the thought.

“He would have to be blind not to see the resemblance, Crowe,” Hargreaves added doubtfully. “The elder of the two, whilst subtly different, shares much of your Miss Downing’s beauty and charm. The younger Miss owns a likeness too.”

“Ho-Ho, Hargreaves. Beauty and charm, eh? You understand I am Louisa’s guardian?” Crowe smirked.

Hargreaves rolled his eyes, “Can a man not make an observation without being married off to the lass?”

Crowe laughed, “Unless you play the pianoforte or can carry a tune, she wouldn’t know you existed, man. I will not own to being too afraid.”

Rose was enjoying the convivial atmosphere of the assembled company when an involuntary shiver chased down her spine. She looked around her to find the source of her unease. Her eyes did not have to travel far to pick out the cause of her sudden discomfort. About fifty feet away, she spotted him; Foster. He gave the appearance of casually conversing with the beautiful blonde lady beside him, while all the time staring fixedly at Rose. When their eyes met, he tipped his hat in insolent greeting. The lady, seeming not to notice the exchange, slipped her arm through her cousins and steered him away in the opposite direction.

Unsettled by the sighting, Rose was never gladder of Crowe’s return; a glass of punch in each hand.

“Rose? Are you well?” he inquired, concerned, she realised by her shaking hand as she reached for the beverage.

“He has seen me,” she explained briefly as Crowe sat beside her. “Please tell me you have decided upon a plan,” Rose added with urgency.

Crowe reached across and squeezed her hand, “It is all in hand. I promise you; all will be well.” He spoke reassuringly, but she had seen the thinning of his lips as he spoke. Confident; he was not.

The sandcastle competition came and went, and as the children were rounded up by governesses and mothers alike, the party made their way across the meadow to the riverbank where the boating would take place. Charlotte explained that this would include the sixth annual gentlemen’s boat race. Marquees had been set up, along with comfortable seating and shade for those wishing to take respite from the sun. Much of society were present, freely mingling with the town’s folk.

Much fun was had spectating the many variations of riverboat races. Men and boys alike fought for supremacy in rowing boats and other small craft, but the most amusing of all was the raft race. As many of the home-made vessels sank as sailed, but the whole event was enjoyed by all.

The final race of the afternoon approached, and teams assembled to discuss tactics and strategy. Like the cricket match of a fortnight ago, the prestige and trophy for winning the gentlemen’s race was much coveted.

Crowe, safe in the knowledge that Rose was content and safely surrounded by friends, headed down to the water’s edge. As was tradition, he took his place at the tiller, while Babington and their new recruit, Hargreaves took to the oars. The Parker brothers raced as a team, as did James Stringer, his foreman Fred Robertson and his brother John, the towns resident stonemason.

No mishaps this year, thought Crowe. He remembered the first race five or six years before and chuckled. He wouldn’t be able to blame the grog this year if they ended up in the bulrushes! With a final wave to Rose, they set off down the river towards the starting line.

**24**

Rose was so preoccupied with the onset of the race that she almost failed to hear her name being called.

“Miss Downing, Miss!”

She felt a tug on her skirts. Looking down to see one of the children from the sandcastle competition; a worker’s child, she presumed, trying to attract her attention.

“Please, Miss, your sister has taken a tumble, and you must come!” The child spoke in a rush.

Rose quickly scanned the crowd around her. She could see Maria speaking with Charlotte, but Louisa was nowhere in sight. Without thinking, she took the child’s hand and bade him take her to her sister at once.

A few minutes passed before she realised that they were headed in the direction of the town. She stopped abruptly and took stock. Why would Louisa leave the regatta? The child’s frantic pulling stopped, and she stared as he turned and sprinted back across the meadow in the direction of the river.

Looking around in confusion, she was oddly unsurprised to see Richard Strathmore, Viscount Foster a few feet away. She stilled as he stalked slowly towards her.

“Where is my sister?” she demanded.

“Ah, Rosemary, you need not look so alarmed. Louisa, I believe her name is, has been called away to tend her desperately sick elder sister. My friend is with her now en route to the hotel,”

Foster sneered.

Grateful at least that no harm had befallen her sister, her nerves were beginning to fray, “What do you want from me, Richard?”

Laughing cruelly, he regarded her with distaste. “Let’s take a little walk, cousin, and I shall explain.” He grabbed her arm painfully and began dragging her off in the direction of a wooded glade.

“You see, after our little chat at Lady Winters ball, I was surprised to learn that you had taken up with that fool Crowe. Naughty of him to play with his ward, what?” he sneered, “Then I arrive at a quaint little regatta to find you once again in my orbit and with him, in public no less. Well, that got me thinking. If you are willing to have your way with him for your board and keep, what would you be willing to do to save your reputation and possibly that of your rather striking sister? Did I mention she would be held at the hotel until I return?” he inquired with feigned lightness.

“Richard. We are cousins. Why are you doing this?” Rose pleaded.

“Ah, you may thank Frogmore for my disdain, Rose.” At her look of confusion, Richard clarified, “The dead one. When he interrupted my carefully planned seduction; I always like fresh goods, you see Rosemary, well like a naughty little girl you squealed like a bitch in heat.” He stepped over a fallen log and hauled her after himself.

“Well, the old bastard found such acts distasteful, you see,” he sneered. “His vice was not women, if you get my drift. However, he was inordinately fond of you, it seemed. Enough to have me blackballed at most of my favoured haunts and set the creditors on me. The final straw was when he informed my father of my ‘proclivities’ as he called them. The old man cut me off. I was in dun territory, right up to my neck until the old miser took a tumble and fell, most conveniently, to his death.”

With every step and his every word, Rose felt more and more unsteady. Bile rose in her throat as she realised the old Viscount had likely been aided in his demise.

“I knew nothing of this,” she cried, suddenly very afraid.

“It matters not. I am justified in my ire, and that is all you need to know.”

With one last tug of her arm, they were amongst the foliage, “The very least I deserve after all of my hardship is to receive what has been owed me for five years, don’t you think?”

**25**

Louisa was confused; this was not the direction they needed to take if they were to return to the hotel. The lady who accompanied her had found her in the refreshments tent a short time ago. She had advised Louisa of an incident that had occurred involving Rose. Louisa had wanted to locate her younger sister Maria, but Clara, as she introduced herself, insisted that they had no time to lose. However, before long, Louisa realised that in their haste, they had travelled in an almost perfect circle and were heading back towards the river.

She stopped, “Excuse me, My lady, we are wasting time. The hotel is in the opposite direction, and if my sister is unwell, we must hurry.”

Clara laughed abruptly before speaking with great urgency, “I am no lady, Miss Downing, and your sister is not injured, but she is in great peril. We must find Crowe and Babington if we are to prevent him from harming her.”

They made it to the jetty just as the gentlemen were disembarking from their crafts. Making straight for Crowe, Clara wasted no time in explaining what had occurred; Foster had been incensed to see his cousin Rose at the regatta. He had sneered when it was suggested to him that she would soon be the next Countess of Frogmore. After cooling his temper, he had enlisted Clara’s aid in separating the sisters from their party. A child had been paid sixpence to call Rose away, and Clara herself had already misdirected Louisa. Foster would wait concealed until Rose entered the meadow then he planned to take her somewhere private to deliver her ‘a message’. The euphemism had not been lost on Clara, and she prayed they would be in time.

Crowe, Babington and a third man, Hargreaves, immediately set off in pursuit.

“Crowe, wait!” Hargreaves shouted, “We need a new plan. Miss Brereton said he intended to take her somewhere secluded. We are only a few minutes behind him so think, man. Where would he have taken her?”

Despite his panic, Crowe realised the sense in Hargreaves words, “What do _you_ suggest?” he asked Babington impatiently.

“There are few places that could be called secluded. Foster took her from the meadow, we know that much. Is there anywhere close by?” Babington asked, clearly as concerned as Crowe.

A voice sounded behind them. Sidney had raced to their aid after speaking with a frantic Louisa. “There is but one place in that meadow secluded enough for what he plans, and that is the glade. I know a short cut. We will be there in minutes.”

They each sprinted off in pursuit of the abductor. As they approached the spot, they divided into pairs. Hargreaves and Crowe circled left while Sidney and Babington came into the wood from the right. A few minutes later, Hargreaves stopped. Faintly, they could just make out the sound of an angry voice.

_“The very least I deserve after all of my hardship is to receive what has been owed me for five years, don’t you think?”_

Foster!

Knowing now that they had made it just in time, Hargreaves and Crowe moved forward stealthily until they glimpsed a flash of vivid yellow. Rose’s dress! 

Rose cried out as Foster’s free hand began to grab at her skirts. She was immediately transported back to the soiree five years ago, and as she felt the same panic rise up within her, she struggled against him. Foster, incensed, raised a fist to strike her, but suddenly he was gone.

Rose slumped, with her back against a tree for support, as Hargreaves pinned Foster to the ground, while Crowe pummeled her assailant mercilessly.

“Crowe,” She managed to call out; abruptly halting his assault. He nodded to Hargreaves, who pulled off his cravat and began to bind Foster's hands behind his back. Crowe reached her and pulled her into his arms.

Just at that moment, Babington and Sidney broke through the vegetation and ground to a halt.

“Thank god!” exclaimed Babington. He and Sidney moved swiftly to assist Hargreaves.

“Did he harm you?” Crowe asked desperately, “I failed you, Rose. This should never have happened.”

“No, Crowe, look at me, I am fine. I shall have a few bruises, but you arrived in time to prevent worse,” Rose smiled weakly.

“I can never thank you all enough for coming to my aid,” Rose trembled as she thanked her rescuers. To Crowe, she offered a gentle kiss and felt the tension begin to drain from him.

“What will you do with him now?” Rose asked with a frown.

Hargreaves pulled the semi-conscious man to his feet, “Don’t you worry, Miss Downing, we have travel plans in place. Lord Foster will trouble you no more.” With that, the three men dragged the bound and gagged Viscount from the glade.

Crowe smiled gently, “Come, there are many worried people waiting to hear how you fare.”

Rose, hesitated, “Crowe?”

He paused, “Yes?”

“Will you ask me now?” she asked softly.

Crowe looked at Rose in confusion before realisation dawned, and then he grinned, “Perhaps you should ask me? After all, I’d hate people to think I’d fallen off the wagon.”

Rose laughed and swatted his arm in mock outrage.

“Frederick Crowe,” she began in a sombre tone, “Seventh Earl of Frogmore.” Her voice softened, “Love of my life and defeater of demons, would you do me the great honour of making me your wife?”

“Well now, I shall have to think on it,” he replied with a wink.

Rose scowled until he laughingly acquiesced. Pulling her into his arms, he said gently, “Rose Downing, the honour would be entirely mine.”

**26**

They made their way back to the riverbank slowly. They spoke of little, but their hearts conversed as, with every few steps, Crowe would stop her to steal a kiss. As they rounded the last bend, their private interlude was abruptly brought to an end.

“Rose! Oh, my dearest! I have been so worried,” exclaimed Louisa before promptly bursting into tears. Maria, subdued and red-eyed from crying, was quick to join them, and the three sisters embraced.

Esther and Charlotte were next to hug her fiercely, relieved to see her safe and well.

Babington, Sidney and Hargreaves all returned, proclaiming that the matter had been dealt with to the satisfaction of all.

Standing alone, some distance away, an elegant lady looked on at the scenes of happiness and joy. She smiled wistfully before turning and starting to walk away.

“Clara,” a voice called, and she turned.

Lady Esther Babington approached her and stopped a few paces away.

“Many of these people aren’t aware of our history, and I would prefer it to stay that way.” She cleared her throat before continuing, “What you did today has not gone unnoticed, and on behalf of Rose, I thank you. Although the information you provided to Babington was not needed, I would like you to know that our offer stands. While I dare not speak for our aunt, should you wish for Violet to know her family, I would be glad to offer her a home. Good day.”

Clara stood still for a moment, watching Esther’s retreating back. She turned and walked away, knowing that she had plans to make and a letter to write.

**27**

The following evening heralded the Midsummer Ball. After the traumatic events of the regatta, all were quite ready to dance and be merry. Rose and Crowe had decided that this event would be their opportunity to share the news of their betrothal.

As Rose readied herself for the evening ahead, a knock sounded on the door to her room. She opened her door to find a surprise visitor. Lady Elizabeth Winters, dressed regally in a deep purple evening gown, entered the room.

“My Lady!” she exclaimed in surprise and delight.

“Rose, my dear. I’m glad to see you. You look beautiful in that shade of pink, dear. My nephew sent me a missive a few days ago inviting me to join you all in Sanditon for the Midsummer Ball. He seemed _most_ insistent that I make the journey from town. Would you happen to know anything about that?” Lady Elizabeth regarded Rose curiously.

Rose shook her head; she honestly had no idea.

A short time later, Crowe and his aunt accompanied Rose and her sisters to the assembly rooms. Hundreds of candles lit the room, and beautiful summer blooms had been artfully arranged in urns and placed decoratively around the ballroom. The atmosphere was magical, and Rose could feel an undercurrent of excitement and expectation.

Crowe settled the ladies before searching out his friends. He found Babington, Sidney and Hargreaves near the refreshments and they grinned when they caught sight of him.

“Well met, Crowe. Are you sure about this?” asked Babington with a smile.

“I have never been more certain of anything,” he grinned, accepting a glass of champagne.

“Cause for celebration, my friend,” Sidney offered. “Just not too many. That would surely ruin what I’m sure you hope to be a magical night,” he added with a wink.

As the room began to fill, Rose searched for Crowe. He had been gone some time. The dancing was due to start soon, and he had claimed the first and every other waltz of the evening. Just at that moment, she spotted him striding purposely towards her.

“Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I welcome you all to the sixth annual Midsummer Ball. Dancing is due to start shortly, however, before we begin, I would like to hand the floor over to our very own Earl Frogmore, who has an announcement to make,” Mr Tom Parker turned and beckoned Crowe to the dais.

Catching hold of her hand, Crowe winked and escorted her, in some confusion, to the front of the ballroom. In a loud, clear voice, he thanked Tom and the other guests for indulging him in a moment of their time. He turned to Rose, still holding her hand.

“Miss Downing. Rose,” he began. There were a few titters from the crowd, but they were promptly silenced by a glowering Lady Winters.

“Yesterday, you made me the happiest of men by insisting that I marry you.”

Rose rolled her eyes and prayed the ground would swallow her whole.

The crowd laughed, and Crowe spoke again, “Tonight, in front of all these people, I should like to return the gesture.” Crowe held her gaze as he dropped to one knee.

“Miss Rosemary Downing, you have calmed the troubled seas of my soul. You have captured my heart and saved my liver,” he winked. “Will you do me the great honour of becoming my countess?”

Caught between laughter and tears, she nodded, “Yes, Crowe, the honour would be entirely mine.”

The crowd erupted in applause and Crowe standing once more, nodded to the side of the room, where Mr Hankins, Rector of Sanditon was making his way towards them, robes swishing around his ankles, and carrying a bible.

Rose, shocked; gaped at the sight and then turned once more to find Crowe grinning.

“You mean …” she looked around in bemusement, “You mean right now?”

“Mmm. Yes, right now,” he replied and guided Rose into place in front of the waiting clergyman.

“Crowe, this is madness!” she laughed.

“Well, my first thought was to bundle you in a carriage and make haste to the border, but I realised I was unwilling to wait that long,” he winked. “It was a close thing, my aunt only arrived a few hours ago with a special licence. If she’d failed to get here tonight, I had the coach standing ready.”

Mr Hankins cleared his throat and began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …”

So, it was there at the 6th annual Midsummer Ball that Rose married the 7th Earl of Frogmore.

**28**

Rose was still a little shocked but deliriously happy. This ball was like no other she had ever attended. Their joy had spread a welcome balm across the whole assembly, and as they danced and laughed, she felt she had finally put her misfortunes behind her.

Louisa stood with her younger sister, “Oh Maria, it’s all so romantic.” Louisa sighed. “Look at them dancing. It’s hard not to envy Rose a little, don’t you think?”

Maria pulled a face, “Gads, no. Why would one wish to be married when one can aspire to be independent? One day, I plan to find my own way in the world. Maybe I will become a writer or an explorer. I don’t see why men should have all the fun.”

Louisa laughed. If any lady could run amok in foreign lands, it would be Maria.

Just then a smooth, melodious baritone spoke in her ear, so close that his breath caused a shiver to run down her spine.

“Miss Louisa, would you do me the honour of dancing the next set with me?”

She turned slowly as Jack Hargreaves, Marquess of Berwick, offered his arm. What was it about this man that made her skittish? As he waited expectantly, she found she had good reason to deny him.

As they took their positions for the waltz, Louisa dared to meet his eyes. They were such a startling blue, she felt they would see straight through into her soul. As he pulled her close, Louisa struggled to breathe, and then he smiled. Devastating, she thought. His face altered from its usual severity to an almost boyish charm.

“You should smile more, My Lord,” Louisa spoke impulsively.

“Aye, I smile only when something pleases me,” his voice softened by his oft absent Scottish brogue, threatened to melt her into a puddle. “And ye please me greatly, Louisa.”

She blushed furiously and looked away, “You are unkind to tease, My Lord.”

“Tease? I had thought to be honest with ye. There is something in the air tonight, and I find that I have a yearning to try for m’sen the same madness that has befallen Crowe.” Hargreaves stared intently but then added, “Would you like some air, Louisa? You seem a trifle flushed.”

In a bid to put some distance between her and the confounding man, she agreed. He steered their path to the outer edge of the dance floor, and stealthily he guided her through the door that opened onto the gardens.

Realising too late that she may have made an error in judgement, she looked around her at the many sconces illuminated by dancing flames. It was intimate and romantic and not conducive to retaining one’s senses.

“Are you more comfortable, Louisa,” he walked up beside her. “I apologise if I discomforted you. I find myself unable to dissemble.”

“Think nothing of it. The heat of the room is all,” Louisa feared she was equally as poor at telling falsehoods.

“Was that all you felt? When we danced?” Hargreaves asked, stepping fractionally closer.

Eyes wide, she regarded him. Who was this intimate, unexpected man? One who seemed to sense her every thought and feeling.

Hargreaves slowly reached for her hand, tugging gently, he pulled her to him.

“I should like to test the theory,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to hers.

Louisa, shocked to her toes, found herself unwilling to push him away. The kiss caused her spine to tingle and her head to spin. Tentatively, she raised a hand, resting it on his chest; conscious of the fast tattoo of his heartbeat that mirrored her own.

He deepened the kiss in response to her touch, and she felt her legs give way. He gathered her close just as the door to the terrace swung open.

The Earl and Countess of Frogmore spilt out into the flickering light and stood stock-still at the scene before them.

“Louisa!” Rose exclaimed with concern.

“Hargreaves,” Cole growled. After a moment’s silence, he added gravely, “What time shall I expect you?”

Hargreaves straightened but did not release his hold on Louisa. “Will eleven suit?”

Cole nodded curtly, “Eleven it is. Don’t be late.”

“May I take a moment to speak to Louisa?” Hargreaves asked politely.

Cole scowled but nodded. “We shall remain by the door to ensure you are not disturbed.”

Louisa was stunned. What the blazes had just happened? “My Lord?” she prompted.

“Be careful what you wish for, old man.” Jack chuckled wryly to himself.

Temptation was the very weakness that, throughout the years, he had tried so hard to temper. He had not lived as a monk, certainly, but past liaisons had all been mutually rewarding and held no expectations. Yet, here he found himself tempted as never before. This slip of a girl had undone what all those years of military training had instilled in him: he had been careless. Of course, at the back of his mind, he had known the risks of being found alone with Louisa and had proceeded to kiss her anyway, without a care for her reputation and nary a concern for his own. Why? Simply because he had wanted to. Well, now he would have to own his mistake, and as honour dictates, he would have to put things to rights.

Louisa tried to pull away from his embrace, but Jack tightened his hold.

“Miss Downing … Louisa, I had planned to take time to investigate the connection between us.” He cleared his throat before continuing awkwardly, “Our acquaintance is short, and my actions here tonight, although not intentional, were reckless, and for that, I most humbly apologise.”

Louisa understood, of course, she did. What on earth had come over her? That was not how she had expected to receive her first kiss. That gift should have been bestowed upon her by her future husband. No, they had both acted improperly, and she was equally at fault for encouraging the intimacy to continue. 

“There is no harm done, My Lord. We shall not speak of it again,” Louisa spoke with as much dignity as she could muster, considering the events of a few moments before. “However, it would perhaps be more prudent to keep our distance in the future.”

Hargreaves looked at her strangely for a moment before smiling crookedly. “Louisa,” he sighed, “distance will not be practical, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” she asked slowly, confusion warring with creeping alarm as she regarded him suspiciously.

Taking a deep breath, Jack spoke carefully, “I meant no dishonour when I kissed you, though I have compromised you all the same. We were discovered, Louisa, by your family, no less. I shall be meeting with Cole tomorrow to agree to the terms of our marriage.”

Louisa’s knees buckled, and had he not been holding her, she would have crumpled to the ground in a heap.

“What do you mean _marriage_?” Louisa’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Don’t be ridiculous. I cannot marry you!”

“We must,” he tilted her chin so that she could regard him while he spoke. “The damage has been done. I am a gentleman, and I have given my word. Miss Downing, will you do me the honour of becoming my marchioness?”

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” She whispered. She wanted to find love and romance with a man who was destined for her; her soul mate, not some man she barely knew. So, was she to be bound to him for the rest of her days because of one slip in propriety? Desperately, Louisa searched his face for a sign that this had all been a ruse. Her heart refused to acknowledge what her head was slowly beginning to accept; this was inevitable.

Defeated; she saw the reality of their situation etched upon his sombre face. The situation was hopeless, and he was as trapped as she. There was only one thing she could say. With a tremor in her voice, she replied, “Yes, My Lord, I suppose I must.”

**29**

The evening was in full swing. Crowe could see that Rose was still troubled by her sister’s predicament. Well, that would be a matter for tomorrow. Right now, it was time for his bride and he to make their excuses. They made their way through the ballroom and many well-wishers, before exiting the assembly rooms. The night air was welcome after the heat of the ballroom, and they walked slowly, hand-in-hand back to The Crown.

Leading her up to the suite of rooms he had arranged, just that afternoon, Rose looked around in delight. The furnishings were elegant and comfortable. There was room enough to sit and relax, and a small dining table was set with a late supper; a bottle of wine and a selection of cheese and fruits awaited them.

Never in her life had she felt so nervous. Crowe was solicitous and kind; he would help ease her nerves; she was sure. To think she had woken this morning without evening knowing today would be her wedding day!

Crowe regarded Rose with a mixture of love and amazement. It was funny, really, how his heart had chosen her from almost the first moment. How his brain had been deluded enough to think a marriage of convenience would ever have been palatable, he would never know.

He gently pulled his wife, his countess, into his arms and kissed her as he had been dreaming of all day. Rose softened in his arms and, bit by bit, her nerves were replaced by longing.

Rose woke unusually late, she stretched then abruptly remembered where she was. Opening her eyes fully, she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Ah, Countess. I thought I would have to leave you to your dreams,” Crowe spoke from the doorway. “A little tired this morning, are we?” he grinned.

Wicked man to tease her so! She thought as she felt herself blush.

Crowe moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He bent down and kissed her gently, “Are you well, wife?” he asked softly.

Rose smiled, “I am perfectly well, thank you, husband.” She noticed he was immaculately dressed. She ran a delicate hand over his velvet sleeve and asked, “Are you going somewhere?”

“I have an appointment with Hargreaves at eleven,” Crowe replied.

“Oh, good lord! How could I have forgotten! I must get dressed and find Louisa. She was not at all happy,” Rose frowned as the memory of finding her sister on the terrace, alone with Hargreaves, came back to her in a rush.

“He’s a good man, Rose. She could do much worse,” Crowe kissed her once more and was gone.

The meeting with Hargreaves went smoothly enough. True to his word, he had arrived with an offer of marriage. He was well set to support a wife; his estate was vast, and the Marquessate in sound financial position. Hargreaves also seemed to have a genuine regard for Louisa. Having been advised of Louisa’s acceptance, Crowe had suggested a September wedding at Wentworth, to allow the bride-to-be to accustom herself to the notion of marriage, and to allow Hargreaves the opportunity to court her in a more traditional manner. This information was relayed to Louisa, and she complied, more out of need than enthusiasm. Crowe only hoped, that with a little time, the two could find a mutual affection.

The following day marked their return to Wentworth. Lady Winters had pressed them to return to London with her, but Rose was keen to see her home once more. Their home, she corrected. The thought made her smile. Following an emotional farewell to all of their friends, they at last set off. Hargreaves was to accompany them for a short visit but chose to ride alongside. Crowe suspected he would use the time to form a battle plan worthy of a military commander to win over his reluctant bride.

As the carriage made its way down the long tree-lined drive, Crowe reflected upon his last journey to Wentworth. He had been drunk for most of the trip, and had viewed the estate as nought more than a millstone around his neck; so mired was he in his past and his unworthiness to hold such a role. He adjusted his arm, which was draped around Rose’s sleeping form, and thanked his departed uncle for so conveniently passing on to meet his maker.

The journey had taken two days, and they arrived at Wentworth just before the evening meal. Crowe had sent one of the footmen ahead to advise the household of their imminent arrival. So, he was unsurprised to see his whole staff stood out in readiness as the carriage drew to a halt. There was not a dry eye amongst them when Crowe introduced Rose to them as their new Countess.

Throughout supper that evening, the conversation had been convivial, and despite some awkwardness between Louisa and Hargreaves, on the whole, the evening was a success.

During a lull in the conversation, Maria asked casually, “You know, you gentlemen never did tell us what became of our despicable cousin?”

Crowe caught the eye of Hargreaves, and they shared a smile. He nodded slightly and motioned for his friend to explain.

“When we understood the extent of Foster’s perfidy, we realised the plan to pay him off would never be enough. Using some of my ex-military contacts, I was able to contact a merchant seaman who was destined to travel from Portsmouth on the morning tide following the regatta.” He paused to add, “Let’s just say that it is not only His Majesty’s Navy that uses press-gangs.”

He took a sip of wine before continuing, “Regrettably, Foster acted first when he abducted your sister. As our seamen were already in situ …”

“Ah, yes,” Crowe interjected. “These fellows for a price had agreed to stop Foster’s carriage on the clifftop road, on his return journey back to town.”

“Yes, just so,” continued Hargreaves. “We managed to get a message to them after we had apprehended him, and they were happy to oblige. They bundled him into the back of a wagon, and by all accounts, set sail for Antigua on schedule. Sidney Parker, being known for his past connections in that part of the world, provided contacts that would ensure that Foster would not be leaving the vicinity any time soon. The man is virtually bankrupt, has few friends of any repute and no family left to question his leave of absence. If he wishes to return to these shores, he will need to work to pay for his passage. We have ensured that the few staff he has managed to retain, are compensated, and they will stay on to ensure his estate does not fall into disrepair.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a gold signet ring, “Without this, Foster will be unlikely to persuade any port authorities of his identity.” He looked at Crowe, “Have I missed anything out?”

Crowe smiled and shook his head, “I think that about covers it.”

The evening was late by the time they retired for the night. Crowe led Rose into the Countesses chamber and looked around in concern.

“I hadn’t realised this room would be so dated, of course, there hasn’t been a countess to own these rooms for decades.” He looked at his wife then and suggested, “We will decorate these rooms to your taste. We can begin tomorrow.”

Rose smiled, “I am in no rush, husband. I rather like the idea of spending each of my nights wrapped in the safety of your arms.”

Taking him by the hand, she wondered at her own boldness as she led him back through the connecting door to the Earls chamber. 

“This will do nicely,” She smiled mischievously.

Crowe grinned roguishly, “I am at your service, wife. Do with me what you will.” 

Turning her in his arms, he kissed her neck and said, “I find I rather enjoy being leg-shackled.”

**30**

A few mornings later, a messenger arrived with a package addressed to Earl Frogmore. Crowe made his way to his study and examined the documents that had been forwarded to him by his solicitor in London.

The first contained a perfunctory note, advising him that, as the terms of the codicil had been met in full, the matter was summarily discharged. The funds had been transferred to the Earldom’s account, and business was therefore concluded.

The second document wasn’t official, but a sealed letter addressed to Crowe. Intrigued, he opened it.

_Nephew_

_If you are reading this letter, I can be assured of two things. The first, most obviously, that I have passed on from this mortal life and the reins of the Earldom are now firmly in your hands._

_The second is that I was not wrong to have placed my faith and trust in your character._

_You must have cursed me when you discovered the codicil that I belatedly added to my will. I do not have to justify myself to a young stripling like yourself, however, know that I did not do so on a whim._

_I have followed your progress throughout the years, and I saw in you shadows of your father before dissipation and vice sent him to an early grave. You will have heard of the rift that separated me from my brother and that his death was a cruel twist of fate enacted on the duelling field. Alas, I am no longer responsible for the secrets of past misadventures and will relay to you here, the truth of what actually occurred._

_Maximus was a fractious boy, and this trait followed him into adulthood. He lived for pleasure as all young bucks are wont to do, but even the bonds of matrimony to a woman he loved, could not tame his reckless impulses. His behaviour became wilder, and your mother bore more dishonour than a gently bred female should ever have to endure. A scandal of epic proportions was brewing and news of an infidelity with a well-known, and well-connected duchess reached the ears of a jealous and lethal husband. Had your father been more scrupulous in his choice of dalliance, he may have realised that a lady so closely related to royalty, was a poor choice indeed._

_Needless to say, events escalated, and your father was called out. The more civilised rules of first blood were insufficient for the enraged duke, and he insisted they duel unto death. The practice was illegal, even then. I was called to second your father, and so the duel took place in the wee hours of the morning on Hampstead Heath. As the men counted their steps, your father’s opponent shot foul. Your father was felled from behind, one could see from the quantity of blood that it was a mortal wound. The slighted duke, belatedly aware of the disgrace and dishonour he had brought upon himself by firing too soon, retrieved a second pistol from his jacket and turned the weapon on himself. The events were shocking, indeed. Alas, as the duke was a close connection to the Crown, Prinny was immediately informed. As a personal favour to the Regent, based on leverage I will gladly take to the grave, I was obliged to take the fall, as they say. It was the only way that I could nobly protect your mother and you from a scandal the likes of which has not been seen in society before. Right or wrong, it was a sacrifice that I gladly took. I will say no more about it and beg you to do the same._

_Back then to the codicil. My stipulation was for you to wed one of my wards. Had you not chosen Rose and realised her value and worth, you would never have received this letter. I needed to know that my wards were protected, and I knew to my bones that Rose would make you the perfect countess. Her strength alone held the key to your salvation. So, I am proud of your sense and trust you to see the others settled similarly, for love. And how do I know yours is a love match, after all, I am beyond the veil, you ask? Simply that no one could know Rose and not love her._

_I have one final request that I would ask you to honour. My illness has made a brute of me, I am aware. I have done things and said things for which I am truly ashamed. The one person, had we lived in another time and place, that should have had my undying devotion was Elliott, my valet and close companion for the better part of twenty years. An official bequest would have brought scandal and therefore, I ask you to arrange for the Oxfordshire Hunting Lodge, which forms part of the unentailed estate, be signed over in name and deed, with the utmost discretion. It is a place that we spent precious times and was dear to us both. God willing, that I may place in your trust this last act._

_Remember, you are not the title. It is your occupation, your privilege to serve, and your duty to preserve for future generations. I have faith that between you and Rose, you will be the best custodians of this fine legacy._

_Henry Crowe_

_6 th Earl Frogmore_

Still digesting the detail of his Uncle’s last communication, Crowe sought out Rose.

After reading the contents for herself, Rose sat pensively for a long moment. Her eyes filled with tears as the poignant tone of his words, and his obvious regard for herself and Crowe, brought memories flooding back of the time before his illness. She was pleased that he had seen in Crowe those very qualities she so adored.

Two months had passed, when together, they had finally located Elliott. On learning of the bequest and the sentiment behind it, Elliott had broken down and sobbed. His memory no longer tainted by harsh words and even harsher conduct.

As they travelled back to Wentworth, Rose was unusually quiet. Crowe could see her face was clouded with emotion and wrapped her in his arms. She continued in contemplative silence until they reached the entrance to the estate.

“Crowe, may we get out and walk the remainder?” she asked

Crowe knocked twice upon the carriage and when it came to a halt, helped her down. The coach trundled off, and they began to walk.

After a few minutes, during which Rose seemed to be debating some internal quandary, she stopped. Crowe, amused to see his usually level-headed wife fight with herself, smiled and waited.

“Crowe, darling,” she started, unaccountably nervous. This was good news, wasn’t it? Perhaps she should wait a little longer?

“Rose, my love, whatever is troubling you, just take a deep breath and tell me,” Crowe responded gently.

“Yes, yes. I suppose I should just come out and say it,” Rose agreed. Still, she said nothing.

Crowe gathered her into his arms and kissed her gently, “Rose?”

“Alright. The thing is, there has been something missing since we married, Crowe,” Rose began.

At the sudden loss of colour in Crowe’s face, she realised she had phrased that completely wrong.

“No, no, darling. Not like that. I mean something physical,” His face fell, and she winced as she realised, her attempt to reassure, had probably made it worse.

Rushing to take the worried look from his face, she decided to just blurt it out, “My courses! My courses are missing Crowe. It’s been a little over two months since the wedding and … nothing.”

Crowe let out the breath he had been holding. Gads, she had him worried. Then he realised what she had said. He felt like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“Rose. What are you saying?”

Rose, pleased that some colour had returned to his cheeks, said softly, “I think, no I’m fairly sure that I am with child.”

Crowe couldn’t speak. Emotion clogged his throat, and his eyes seemed to be a little blurred. Gads. What has happened to me, he thought. Then the image of Rose with a child – his child, gave him such joy that he let out a whoop! He placed a hand on Rose’s belly, slightly rounder now that he thought about it, and leaned down to kiss her. He continued to kiss her until they were both breathless.

As they made their way home, Crowe grinned, “So, we are well on the way to discharging two of my uncle’s posthumous requests. Settling the Hunting Lodge on Elliott and now providing for future generations. This Earl business isn’t so bad, after all.”

** Epilogue **

Whilst joyous news abounded in a large country estate in Berkshire, a lady sat sobbing into an old and much-loved rag doll. Half an hour ago, a carriage had left her home carrying Lord and Lady Babington, and accompanying them, was a curious but confused, five-year-old girl. Clara knew she had done the best she could possibly do for her daughter, and Babington had reaffirmed their solemn promise to never allow Violet to forget her mother. Her child, who at five years, did not understand the longevity of their separation, promised to write to her mother, every Wednesday until it was time for her to return home. Little did she know, she would never come home again.

Straightening her shoulders and wiping her eyes, Clara made her way over to the small escritoire, taking out a sheet of vellum. Only the best would do for a high-class whore, she thought wryly. Taking out her pen and deftly sharpening the nib, she dipped it in the indigo ink and began to write.

_Sir Edward_

_It has been some time since my last letter. Do not fear, dear man, as requested, your whereabouts are still known only to myself. However, some recent events have occurred, of which I feel I am duty-bound to inform you._

_I have this day, with a heavy heart but a clear conscience, surrendered my daughter – our daughter, Violet, into the care of Lord and Lady Babington. From this day forth, she will be raised in comfort and, god-willing, escape the scandal that both of her selfish parents have courted for so long._

_I do not know if familial reconciliation is in your future, however, should you ever return to these shores, you should at least know where to locate your child. My future is less certain. This life of a courtesan is as ephemeral as a shooting star; she who is the toast of the town one day may find herself in the gutter the next. Therefore, should something ever happen to me, I must ask for your solemn promise that you will ensure that our daughter is kept free from harm, always._

_Your Friend_

_Clara Brereton_

_One month later, Lille, France_

Sir Edward Denham sat in a small tavern in one of the seedier districts of Lille. It was dangerous for an English man to be at large in these parts, but he had been a resident for long enough, and his French passably adequate, to have gone largely unnoticed. One would never, in a hundred years, guess him a to be a member of the English aristocracy. A Baronet, in this place and time, was hardly something to advertise. Yet today, his exiled existence was not his primary concern.

He read the lines in the letter once more, and with a final inhalation of the faintly scented velum, tossed the letter into the fire.

So, Esther and her lackwit of a husband had condescended to offer charity to his natural daughter. How ironic fate could be. Long since resigned to the events of six years ago, he still held on tightly to the resentment over his high-handed treatment. He rued the day his path had ever crossed with Eliza Campion. Still, at least he was free from the daily torment of seeing his stepsister deliriously happy. By all accounts, her primary occupation was providing Babington with a bevvy of offspring. He took a long gulp of his red wine as his thoughts turned to his unlikely friend and only connection with England.

Clara, Clara, what a life you have been forced to lead, he thought. Though her innocence had been long gone, even when he had lain with her, she had had a fighter’s spirit and a tenacity that should have seen her triumph. Instead, her disgrace had been complete when she had found herself with child. Her sense of humour had not left her, even at her lowest, Oh! The ignominy of naming the bastard daughter of a courtesan after a stubborn and unforgiving old dragon, like their aunt.

Still, despite her faults, and she had many, Clara had risen from her fall from grace, and against all the odds, loved her child. Truly loved her. Enough to give her up in order to secure a better life. That took courage, he had to admit. The girl he had desired more than life itself, despite her duplicity, still had the ability to surprise him. He chuckled. If only things had been different.

“Excusez-moi, Monsieur Denham?” A rough looking gentleman stood beside his chair, “Si vous pouviez m'épargner un moment de votre temps?

Edward, immediately on guard, wondered why he should spare this character a moment of his time. There was something fishy about his accent too; it was not quite right. He should know, it had taken him long enough to pick up the colloquialisms of this region. He was so infernally tired of this. Watching his back and never quite being allowed to just breathe. Enough was enough.

“Drop the act, monsieur, your about as French as I am,” Edward gambled, in a low voice.

The man stared at him, intently before coming to some kind of decision. He drew up a stool and sat. In a low voice, barely audible, he asked, “How would you like to go home, Sir Edward?”

**The End**


End file.
